Ouroboros
by Ktrenal
Summary: Ouroboros is the sign of eternity, life from death, the endless cycle of the universe. For a lost Turk however, there's more important things to worry about. Finding his way home is just the start of Reno's problems. Chapter fifteen up.
1. The Aftermath

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter One - The Aftermath**

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The music of the bar was more the feel of the vibrations than any true sound, the loud and thumping beat reverberating and seeming to shake the entire building, to the point where even the crashes of thunder in the skies above the city were dimmed into obscurity. A little storm was hardly enough to ruin the lively atmosphere inside the bar; the place had survived far worse after all. Sephiroth, Meteor, rowdy drunks. In comparison, the hurricane raging outside was nothing. Lights flickered with the beat of the music, shockwaves of different colours, ranging from red to purple, and down into the ultraviolet shades that caused white clothing to glow with an eerie light, one that was almost reminiscent of a Mako glow in its strange intensity and ethereal nature, if not for the actual colour.

That was one of the things that few even noticed however, since the bar promoted itself more to a lively party than quiet revelations considered over a drink or three. At least for most people anyway, since there were always exceptions. Just why this trio had come to this place was something known only to them, or then again, perhaps not.

"Why do we come here?" one of the three asked, a pretty blonde woman with intense brown eyes. Her gaze was traveling around the bar with a look of slight distaste, and a frown crossed her features as she turned back to her two companions.

The former of the two simply shrugged in response, evidently unfazed by the thumping music, flashing lights, or the woman's disapproval. Despite the darkness of the bar, broken only by the swirling lights that flashed in time with the music, this large, heavily set man wore a pair of sunglasses that concealed his eyes.

"The reason we come here, 'Laney, is it's the only place that doesn't care who we are, and it's too loud for anyone to hear us talk," the other man said, a lanky individual with unruly red hair and ice blue eyes that held an unusual glint; the sign of Mako for those who cared to look.

"Don't call me that Reno. Why does it matter if anyone hears us? It's not like we're planning anything," the woman responded, fixing the red-head with a stern look.

"Speak for yourself," the one dubbed Reno answered, shrugging his shoulders and then leaning forward onto the table that sat between them. He lifted his drink, idly swirling the almost empty glass and watching the golden liquid within.

"What's that supposed to mean?" came the response from the woman, her expression darkening as realisation dawned that her companion evidently had something on his mind.

"Careful. You don't want to do anything... silly," the hitherto silent man said, and it was difficult to tell whether his words were aimed at the red-head or the blonde.

"Come on Rude, you know me," Reno countered, his features twitching into a slight smirk.

"Precisely. Don't do anything silly," the bald man repeated. His own expression remained passive as he took a sip from his own drink.

"I'm not going to. I'm just bored alright?" the other man said, staring once again at his drink. 'Bored' wasn't quite a strong enough word however. There were no better words to describe the apparent joys of working in a supermarket, stacking shelves. During the long and boring evenings he'd contemplated on more than one occasion if it were possible to kill himself with a can of beans. Other than bludgeoning himself with death with it, he'd come up with no other options. It wasn't even like the job paid well either.

It was pathetic in a way. Reno, leader of the Turks, reduced to stacking shelves in the main supermarket of Junon. It was the only job he'd been able to get, so he had to stick with it. And he knew Rude and Elena hadn't fared any better; the bald man was working for a construction company, largely spending most of his day lugging bricks around, and Elena was a receptionist for one of the local accountancy firms. She definitely had the best of it, but her innocent charm had given her an edge the two male Turks had lacked.

No one wanted Shinra's elite assassins around, but Elena's bubbly personality had made her so much easier to forgive. Even Rude's silence could be taken for a form of quiet remorse, or at the very least, an indication of being trustworthy. Reno, on the other hand, was unwilling to behave in any way other than that which came naturally to him, which resulted in the fact that no one in their right minds wanted to employ him, or have anything to do with him.

The other two Turks being the notable exception however; there was very little that could truly separate the three, especially in a world that was so much more hostile towards them now. They lived in the same neighbourhood of Junon, which was as close to being the world's capital city as it was possible to get, now that Midgar lay in ruins. For the first few weeks, they'd lived together in one tiny appartment until each of them had found their feet, but essentially it came down to the fact that as close as they were, some space was needed.

That was almost a good thing, to Reno's eyes. He knew both Rude and Elena earned more than him now, and he could also sense that it was only the fact that he would object strongly that prevented them from offering him more help. It was embarrassing really. The supermarket paid just enough to live on, as long as 'living' didn't include more than one or two meals a day or a particularly nice place to live. 

It was enough though, so long as any beer the red-head consumed was left to be paid by his former colleagues. His objections to assistance didn't quite extend as far as alcohol after all. But then, were it not for the combined enjoyment of his friends' company and the beer, Reno knew his life would be infinitely more miserable.

All in all, things could be worse, the eternal optimist had to admit. He was alive, he wasn't alone, and when he really thought about it, his standard of living now was better than it had been in his days before Turk life. He'd let himself grow too accustomed to Shinra taking care of his every need and whim, that was the real problem. He would adapt, as he knew Rude and Elena would; he would have been very mistaken to think they weren't also finding life hard, despite their marginally better current circumstances.

"You're bored?" Elena asked, and then broke into a smile. "Not enjoying your job?"

"No, actually. I'm a Turk, not a damn shelf stacker. If it wasn't for the fact that it'd look suspicious, I'd torch the whole place. I mean, it puts me off my food you know, working around it all day. I swear if I ever see another can of beans..." the lanky red-head trailed off, leaving the threat hanging.

"You're working tonight. There will be plenty cans of beans remaining," Rude pointed out, ever the voice of logic and reason.

"I know. Sucks, doesn't it?" Reno commented, finishing off the last of his beer and studying the glass with an almost mournful look. "I miss being a Turk. I miss Shinra," he reflected, placing the glass down onto the table with a soft thump. He pulled himself to his feet, eyes fixing on Rude and then to Elena. "I guess I'd better get to work before boss threatens to fire me for like the fifth time this week. Make sure you have plenty fun tonight on my behalf."

There was a nod in response from Rude, and a murmured affirmative from Elena, both of which Reno responded to with a flash of a grin, before loping casually out of the bar and into the stormy street outside. It was dark, with no sign of the moon or stars in the sky, both concealed by the thick and heavy clouds that hung ominously in the sky. The wind whipped around, pulling already unruly hair into a variety of new directions as the heavy downpour of rain soaked his clothes almost immediately.

Cheap clothes, with no resistance to water. Black, for the simple reason that it was possible to look good in the colour without much effort or expenditure. Black went with everything in the end. It was deceptive too, since from his choice of clothing it might have been thought that the former Turk was suffering from depression; very few chose such morbid colouration these days. 

But come on, it wasn't like he'd dyed his hair black or anything. Reno was far from depressed, such a state of mind being very difficult for him to achieve, although for the first few weeks after the 'saving' of the world he had tried. He couldn't hold with it however, the optimism and fire of his personality unwilling to be dulled. So he flowed with it, remaining his usual cheerfully irritating self.

His intensely boring job couldn't change that, and the weather couldn't change that, despite how much both seemed to be trying at the moment. The supermarket was open at all hours, but since it was quietest during the night hours, this was when Reno had been instructed to refill the shelves. This was in preparation for the next day's flow of shoppers, and also because it seemed as if the owner of the place was trying to conceal the fact that he'd hired a Turk.

Hired likely out of pity, Reno reflected with a disgusted snort. He, Rude and Elena had arrived in Junon bedraggled, injured and hungry, looking distinctly the worse for wear after a dramatic escape from the falling Midgar and a long journey from there to the other large city of the continent. It had been a slightly limping Rude that went to the construction company for a job, Elena had been near tears as she'd pleaded with the accountants for her receptionist position, and a half-starved Reno had turned up at the supermarket, intent at first on finding some way to buy or steal some food.

The owner, an older man in his mid-fifties had recognised the Turk, and despite a generally harsh personality, couldn't bring himself to let the red-head starve. The offer of the job stacking the shelves had evidently been a spur of the moment gesture of kindness, one that the man had come to regret perhaps. Once Reno was no longer near starved, his natural personality had began to shine through once more, and the last thing a popular and profitable supermarket needed was an arrogant Turk making smart-assed comments at the customers.

Three months of night work had resulted in Reno feeling distinctly nocturnal, so he couldn't actually sleep at night anymore, even during his days off. This meant that his only contact with his friends was confined to the evenings, when they descended upon the bar for a drink after work in Rude and Elena's case, or before in Reno's, and in the mornings when Reno would join one of them for breakfast, or dinner, depending on how they looked at it.

It could be better, on the whole, but then it also could be worse. Reno counted himself lucky, despite his constant complaints about boredom or the way his boss treated him. And yet, he had spoken the truth; he did miss life as a Turk, and he did miss Shinra. Those kind of things were those best not mentioned aloud in any location where he might be overheard however, hence the answer to the original answer to Elena's question. In that bar, Reno could say what he liked without repercussion.

He could out here too, he realised. No one in their right minds would be out in this weather. It was going to be one very quiet night at work, which was perfect. Reno had the perfect idea for idling away the dull hours of the night, and he couldn't help but smirk at the thought of it as he pushed open the back door of the supermarket, heading into the office.

"What're you grinning about?" the voice of his boss questioned, the man's brown eyes regarding him with something between amusement and contempt.

"It's raining," Reno responded, continuing the grin. Reveling in such inane comments was part of what kept him going. His hair, usually a fiery red, was darkened with moisture and clung to his face, while his clothes hung wetly over his shoulders, dripping rhythmically on the cold concrete floor of the tidy office.

"I see. You know where the towels are. Get dry and get to work. You're on your own tonight. It's my wife's birthday so I can't stay, and Joanne's called in sick. That means you're to watch the store while you're restocking the shelves."

"No problem Freddy," Reno replied, keeping his expression neutral at this news but inwardly celebrating. Joanne might have interfered with his plans, and he certainly could never get away with them while the boss was in the building.

"How many times have I told you? It's Frederic, not 'Freddy'," the supermarket owner said, his voice darkened with reprimand, but also resigned to the fact that neither his tone nor words meant anything to the rebellious ex-Turk.

"Yeah, alright Freddy. You'd better get going. I'll bet the wife's waiting. Tell her I said hi," Reno said, strolling out of the office now and in the direction of the small kitchen area of the back rooms. He pulled open the cupboard under the sink, crouching down to root through the contents in search of one of the towels he knew to be kept there, not making too much effort to maintain the tidy order of the cupboard.

Finally he found one such towel, and stood up as he vigourously ruffled his hair to dry away most of the moisture. As he did so, he turned around to lean back against the counter, knowing Frederic would be watching him, even if Reno couldn't see him from underneath the towel.

"Just don't do anything stupid kid," 'Freddy' said warningly. "You're in charge for the night, and I want you to act like it."

"No problem Freddy, I'll be good," Reno promised as he finished drying his hair and moving the towel to absorb as much of the water soaking his clothes as possible. If his hair had appeared scruffy before, it was nothing in comparison to its state now after the rough drying Reno had given it. 

At least if no one else was here, he'd be able to laze around at the checkout for a while, where he knew for a fact there was a heater. And a heater meant drying off and staying warm, since the combination of wet clothes and the cold concrete of the back rooms made him shiver involuntarily.

The promise was evidently enough, and soon Frederic was on his way, leaving Reno alone in a very large supermarket, all on his own. And true to his word, the red-head behaved, simply making his way over to the checkout to settle by the heater and warm up.

It was remarkable really, how the world adjusted to life without Shinra's domination, Reno reflected as he watched the lighting of the supermarket, clean white light holding perhaps just the faintest flicker. No more burning Mako for electricity, not when there was plenty of coal around, and those weird environmentally friendly power sources like wind and waves and sunlight and such. Not much sunlight today, but plenty in the way of wind and waves.

Each town seemed to be in control of its own energy sources, and Reno'd heard a rumour that somewhere in charge of Junon's power issues was Reeve, the former Head of Urban Development of Shinra. Fucking tree-hugger, part of Strife's gang. If the rumours turned out to be true, Reno wouldn't have been surprised. 

Sometimes, especially on lonely nights like this, he wondered about Avalanche, and what they were doing with themselves now there was no Shinra to destroy, no Meteor to stop and no Sephiroth to kill. "Bet they're less bored than me right now," he commented aloud, smirking at that thought.

Cloud was probably lounging around in that villa in Costa Del Sol, Tifa hanging off his arm adoringly. Barret was likely back in North Corel, taking advantage of the world's renewed interest in coal. Cid and Red XIII would be back at their respective homes, doing whatever it was they thought would make them happy. Yuffie would be out stealing some poor guy's materia. Vincent was probably... doing whatever it was that freaky ex-Turk vampires did; Reno wasn't entirely sure about that one. And Reeve was evidently taking an interest in Junon's electricity.

All in all, they probably had better lives than the Turks did right now, and in a vague flash of pride, Reno was glad none of them were around to see him here. There were few fates he considered worse than the likes of Cloud Strife and his tree-hugging buddies seeing him working in a supermarket stacking shelves. There would be comments about how the Turks deserved to be far worse off, or something similar.

While Reno himself held no hard feelings for Avalanche, simply because it wasn't in his nature to do so, at least not for any length of time, he was certain the feelings were not mutual. And he genuinely felt that since the demise of Shinra, he'd fallen a long way. He didn't intend to encounter any former enemies until he'd climbed his way back up a little way. No way was he staying in this job for the rest of his life, and he didn't doubt for a moment that he would be able to get through life without at least stumbling across one of them.

Turk or not, Turk Pride still remained, and always would. This job was purely a temporary setback, a stepping stone across the river of life, or some shit like that. Reno didn't deal well with the philosophical and metaphorical concepts, at least not in a sensible way. His 'butterfly religion' could possibly have counted as a philosophical idea, but it also counted as plain weird.

Satisfied that he was now as dry as he could get, and that for the immediate future no one would be coming in to buy anything, Reno wandered into the back of the supermarket, returning in a few moments towing a wooden plat on which hundreds of cans of beans stood. It was time to get creative with his time.

Once he reached a fairly open space, he ripped open the tough plastic wrapping holding the cans in place, and quickly began construction, placing the cans in a large circle on the floor and building it up a few levels, before creating eight spires around the edge, and a far larger tower in the centre. A little more work, and Reno stepped back to survey his work.

That was way more interesting than the usual pyramid or cube shaped stacks; a near perfect replica of the city of Midgar in all its glory, albeit constructed of tin cans. Even so, it was impressed, spanning a diameter of some ten feet, and standing three feet tall in the centre, where the bean can Shinra Building stood, looming ominously over the eight plates. Reno wasn't quite sure if anyone but him would appreciate this particular outlet for his imagination, but he was pleased with it. It put him in mind of the model of Midgar in the Urban Development offices; he'd had fun playing with that on more than one occasion.

One time, the most memorable of them on account of being the one in which he'd gotten into the most trouble afterwards, he'd taken some rats from the science labs and released them into the model city. His reasoning had been that Midgar was full of monsters, and so for the model to be a realistic representation, it required monsters to attack the fictitious inhabitants of the model. The multi-headed, multi-tailed, fanged, clawed and generally monstrous rats from the labs had been ideal. Certainly monsters, and about the right size to roam around the streets of the models. 

It had been funny, although Reeve hadn't agreed when one of the rats had bitten him, nearly taking off his entire hand in the process. The rats had promptly escaped from the model during the resulting confusion, and disappeared into the ventilation system. Over the course of the following week, until the creatures had been recaptured, Reeve hadn't been the only one to suffer severe bites and poisoning from the rats' infectious fangs.

Reno glanced at his watch; well that little exercise had killed an hour or two at least. Only another ten hours to go until he could go home. Ten hours of mind-numbing boredom to deal with. Perhaps he could get creative with some other items of stock too? Yeah, that could work. Although it would mean he'd have to think of some more ideas for tomorrow.

That was sad really, wasn't it? The fact that the most interesting aspect of his life was coming up with interesting shapes to stack various food items in. It really indicated that he now had absolutely no life at all, but twelve hour night shifts at a supermarket didn't exactly allow him much in the way of a social life.

_I am definitely not spending the rest of my life working here_, he thought to himself as he went out to the stock room once more to find some other suitable types of food to build with.

Three hours later, and the reconstruction of Midgar had been joined by a tinned pea model of Junon, a Northern Crater built entirely of loaves of bread, and Wutai had been emulated with the use of several hundred boxes of biscuits. And now he was beginning to run out of space, so it was back to merely stacking things on shelves in the usual boring way.

As Reno wandered back over to the unoccupied checkout, he noticed movement outside. He had barely time to react before three men erupted through the doorway as the automatic doors slid open, moving quickly with weapons drawn and faces concealed by black ski masks. Seriously, this was the best they could do these days?

"Hey, look, you guys are wasting your time," Reno drawled casually, smirking in amusement as they whirled around to aim their weapons at him. The correct course of action for the usual supermarket attendant would have been to raise his hands in surrender and allow them to plunder the till. Yeah, right. Like _that_ was going to happen.

"Oh, and why's that?" the larger of the three men asked. He was a heavy built, stocky individual, and taller than Reno by a clear foot. The eyes visible from the holes in the ski masks were a bright green, something the former Turk recognised instantly as a Mako glow. So this was what the now unemployed members of SOLDIER were up to. Somehow, the red-head couldn't quite hold it against them; wouldn't he be doing the same if he hadn't found a job? Wouldn't he _rather_ be doing the same?

"Well, firstly there's been no one here tonight, so there's nothing worth taking in the till. Secondly, you know full well that I can take you, even if there are three of you. Thirdly, you'll wreck the most productive thing I've done all evening," Reno commented, ticking off his points on his fingers as he held up a hand to illustrate to the three would-be thieves. "Of course, if you feel like being sensible about it, I'm sure I could get away with letting you take some food, since I bet you guys are hungry."

"We don't want any charity from a fucking Turk," one of the other men said darkly, his golden brown Mako eyes fixing darkly on Reno, who simply glared back.

"No, we don't want charity. Unlike some, we don't sink so low as to accept pity from others," the leader said, and it was clear this statement was aimed at the red-head. "Now, hand over the cash, or we'll kill you."

There was a grin from the ex-Turk as his left hand dropped to his side, tightening around the weapon hanging at his hip. Just because he no longer killed for a living didn't mean he was going to walk around unarmed; there were enough people who recognised his identity to keep life dangerously interesting for him, and so Reno had resisted selling his weapons or materia, no matter how poor and destitute his situation became.

"How about we rephrase that?" Reno suggested as he lifted the Electro-Mag Rod, casually flicking the switch on the weapon's handle. It charged, electricity sparking from the tip, and he could feel the hum of it vibrating slightly in his hand. "How about... you leave right now or I zap the living shit out of you?" he offered with a smirk.

"That's the way you want it?" the leader of the ex-SOLDIERs asked, dropping back into a fighting stance and holding his sword before him in preparation for battle.

"That's the way it's going to be," came the response from Reno, and even before any of his opponents could swing an attack at him, he'd let loose with a burst of electrical energy from the end of his weapon. He had enough time to see it strike into the chest of one of the SOLDIERs before he had to move quickly to the side to avoid the blade slicing through the air at neck height.

Were this a firefight, he would have been inclined to duck behind some shelves and simply blast these men into oblivion, but the trouble with sword fighters was they tended to come at you when you tried to hide. Reno didn't like swords, especially not after some very unpleasant experiences on the receiving end of Strife's overgrown butcher knife he liked to call a sword.

Instead the lanky red-head began relying on his innate speed and agility, using that to dodge the blades sweeping through the air towards various parts of his anatomy. SOLDIERs were strong, but compared to the Turk especially, not particularly dexterous or fast. If they caught him, they'd have the power to severely hurt him, but first they had to catch him.

Ducking and weaving about them, and jamming his nightstick into them whenever he gained the opportunity, Reno focused more on not getting hurt than causing any harm himself. It'd look bad when Freddy came in tomorrow morning to see corpses lying around a destroyed shop floor. But then, having said that, since when had the Turk ever cared if he destroyed something while fighting?

He darted about, inflicting damage as the opportunity arose, and thus far only receiving one injury as the leader's sword glanced across his side; the blow might have done more damage had Reno not been actively dodging about, ducking just in time to avoid the worst of the blow. He laughed lightly, really somewhat enjoying himself as he sent a vicious jolt of electricity through the gut of one of his opponents. It had been a while since anything this interesting had happened to him, and it was certainly a challenge.

The leader renewed his attack, driving forward more relentlessly now, and the former Turk was pressed enough to stay out of harm's way that he didn't quite catch the sound of a spell being cast until it was a little too late. Or two spells, if the swirling effects around him were any indication. The silvered clock coming to rest over his head indicated a time-based spell; Slow perhaps, in the vague attempt of ending his lightning fast movements? The other was one he didn't recognise, a storm of black around him that soon formed into a circular black chasm beneath him.

He struggled against the pulling feeling that emanated from below him, sensing himself being sucked into the black hole even as the Slow spell worked on reducing the speed of his movements. Was it really fair to inflict two spells on a guy at once? There was only so much he could deal with after all. But he wasn't about to give in, retaliating against the two spells with a shout of 'Neo-Turk Light'. The lightning based innate ability of the Turk shot out, hitting all three of his opponents with enough force to send them flying backward, and causing Reno to grin despite the dire nature of his own situation.

With the three SOLDIERs no longer fighting him, he was able to concentrate more thoroughly on fighting the black pit below his feet and the time spell around him. He was almost succeeding too, perhaps through pure strength of will alone, before the black pit shifted a little, sucking the reconstruction of Midgar towards it with almost frightening speed. With the effects of the Slow spell beginning to affect his movements, Reno couldn't quite dodge the can of beans flying towards him. 

"Fuck..." he swore as the can hit him roughly on the side of the head, forcing his sense of consciousness to fade into a blackness that matched the magical hole pulling at him. No longer able to fight the effects of the spell, the former Turk was pulled into the black hole.

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Disclaimer - Reno, and the rest of Final Fantasy VII, belongs to Square. That, on the whole, covers it. Never was very good at writing these things.

Author's Notes - Well, here's the beginning of Ouroboros, although I imagine for most the name means very little. All will become clear in next chapter. Or maybe the chapter afterwards. 

My eternal thanks to Phoenix for being my beta-reader for this, in addition to poking me to keep writing. Poking me to start the next chapter right now, for that matter. Let me finish my Author's Notes first okay?

Anyway, please review, because reviews are much more motivating than being poked by one's beta-reader. Ktrenal loves reviews, and promises not to leave the cliffhanger too long if he gets lots of them.

Update - Just fixed some formatting errors...

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	2. Where's It Gone?

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter Two - Where's It Gone? **

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A low, rumbling sound, almost like vast quantities of water moving powerfully at the bidding of some unseen force, punctuated by the sound of stones rolling, hitting against each other softly and without much in the way of energy behind it. It was almost peaceful, the sound washing over his mind in the manner of waves washing calmly over the chipped gravel of a stony beach. It was the kind of sound he'd always enjoyed, perhaps because he'd never encountered the ocean until a fairly recent date; the first time he'd ever left Midgar had been a mere two years before, and even then the sight, sound and smell of the sea had fascinated and intrigued him.

He took a long, slow breath, reflecting how he could almost smell the watery salt on the air, accompanying the sound of the waves rolling up the beach. There were other sounds, ones he couldn't identify, and all he could narrow it down to was some kind of bird. Such things were rare, he knew, especially innocent birds that didn't try to kill you or eat you or both. Mako pollution from the Reactors had taken their toll on the world it seemed, killing off or mutating much of the natural wildlife. 

Not that he'd ever worried about such things; wildlife was not something he'd ever been overly concerned about, since he was a city man at heart. Take him away from the concrete streets and buildings of a city, and he felt a bit lost and out of place. Wildlife, as far as he was concerned, was things like rats in the sewers, and the strange monsters that leapt out at him from alleyways. Although, did a living house really count as wildlife, or even a monster? That had scared the shit out of him though, being jumped by a house. You expected the big rats and various mutants, but you didn't expect a house to come to life and try to kill you. He'd actually been forced to have therapy from that incident.

Wildlife, therefore, was like monsters; kill or be killed. And by the feel of his head, whatever was making those birdy sounds had attacked him. It clearly had a hard beak or whatever piece of its anatomy it used to beat people over the head with. Sometimes, it seemed that maybe Avalanche had done the world a favour by getting rid of Shinra, and killing so many monsters in the process of their travels.

He forced himself to stir, beginning to feel the light, warm breeze on his face as he swam slowly and almost awkwardly towards consciousness, feeling a little dazed. What had happened? He'd been attacked by a bird thing maybe? Or... no, wait. There'd been a storm, he remembered that. A lot of wind and rain, a very powerful contrast to the warm sunshine beating down on him now, and the soft gentle breeze moving almost idly through his hair.

So there'd been a storm, and he'd gone to work. Cans of beans seemed to figure largely in his memory, and then the three SOLDIERs. Right, so they'd knocked him out with a can of beans and... then what? That wasn't quite right either. There'd definitely been a fight though, and he'd been doing well until his opponents started using magic. That was right.

And some weird magic had sucked him into a big black hole, and then dropped him here, wherever here was. Somewhere warm and really quite pleasant. He shifted position again, and forced his eyes to open, snapping them closed almost immediately as the glare of the sun virtually blinded him. So he was somewhere sunny, and by the sea. Costa Del Sol perhaps?

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, one hand propping him up as he opened his eyes again, this time met with a far better view, or at least one that wasn't hazardous to his continued vision. He was at the edge of a narrow beach comprised mostly of shingle rather than sand, the ocean waves rising a short distance up the beach, and in the distance crashing against cliffs that seemed oddly familiar, yet somewhat out of place too. At the edge of the beach a small harbour had been constructed out of rough, jagged stones cut into approximately cuboid pieces. Stretching from this harbour along the edge of the coastline towards him were small, simply constructed buildings of wood and stone. 'Quaint' was the word that came instantly to mind, and as his gaze drifted back to the harbour and out a little into the bay, he wasn't surprised to see a few small fishing boats bobbing up and down in the crystal clear waters.

A call came from overhead, and he looked up, his eyes coming to rest on a white bored cruising effortlessly through the sky above him. Some kind of seabird perhaps? He wasn't really sure, since all the coastal towns he knew of had long since ceased to have birds. This really was a strange place, with its untouched and unspoilt village, air that both felt and smelled clean, and actual birds in the clear blue skies.

"Where the fuck am I?" he asked, the question seeming more than a little justified, given the circumstances. He could only assume the black pit thing had transported him somewhere, but where?

After a moment or two of contemplation, Reno hauled himself up to his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness passing over him for a few seconds, before clearing when he concentrated on not allowing the dizziness to affect him. Pain and discomfort were all states of mind after all, and if he didn't want to be dizzy, he wasn't going to let his body tell him otherwise.

His eyes settled on the ground at his feet, and he laughed lightly as he spotted a can of beans resting on the ground nearby. It had a distinct dent in the side of it, probably from where it had impacted with his head. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about going hungry for a while, he reflected as he crouched to lift the can in his hands, quickly noticing others nearby. The black hole had clearly consumed more than just its human target, providing him with a food source too.

And after his complaints about never wanting to see a can of beans again too. And assuming he could find a way to open the cans. But, it wasn't like he was out in the middle of nowhere. There was that quaint looking little village over there after all. They'd have a can opener, hell, they'd probably even have something better to eat than tinned beans. Like... fish and crabs and lobsters and things. Since it was a fishing village and all.

He wondered idly if fish and beans would go well together in a meal; it was one of those ideas that seemed so weird and disgusting that it would probably work quite well. He'd never been a fussy eater after all, and always ready to try new combinations, much to Elena's frequent disgust. But even she'd had to admit that the beer flavoured milkshake had been an inspired idea.

Aware that he might look a little silly wandering into the village carrying a can of beans, Reno dropped it, watching it land and then roll down onto the shingle beach. Still feeling a little disorientated, he began to walk along the top of the beach towards the line of buildings nearby, staying above the edge as the small rounded stones tended to slide under his feet, which he imagined would be detrimental to his health at the moment.

There was still something oddly familiar about the coastline around here, although the young red-head couldn't quite determine what it was. He was fairly certain that he'd never been here before, and yet still the place felt like he had. He shook the feeling off, deciding it was the residual effects of being attacked by a can of beans. That kind of thing affected a guy's thought processes, he was certain of that.

As he entered the village, the word 'quaint' came to mind once again, the small buildings clustered around the pincer formation of the two granite piers that formed the harbour, and the people nearby seemed to be mostly women and children. The men were out fishing perhaps? While the women sat outside their homes, mending nets or gutting fish, while the children ran around the streets, soon pausing in their games to stare at the darkly clad stranger that was the disorientated and lost former Turk.

The stench of fish seemed to permeate the air, the scent pushing right into back of his nose and making him almost feel sick for a moment; raw fish was something that never smelled nice, although cooked fish was another matter altogether. With all these thoughts about food, Reno wondered idly if he hadn't missed too many meals recently.

He paused in his steps, snagging the nearest child with his hand. "Hey kid. What is this place?" he asked, deciding to at least find out where he was, if not why he was here.

"What you mean?" the child, a boy of around five or six asked, staring at the red-head like he'd lost his mind.

"I just wanna know what this place is called. This village does have a name right?" he asked, quickly clarifying his question.

"Yeah, it does. This is Junon, and you're weird," the kid said, pulling away from Reno's grip on his arm and bounding away to rejoin his friends.

Junon? What the fuck? The name had caught him so unawares that he barely even noticed the boy run off. How in hell could this be Junon? Reno knew that Junon was a bustling, busy city that seemed only to have blossomed since Shinra's destruction, increasing in size to rival Midgar in only a few months; likely caused by the influx of refugees from Midgar that hadn't been able to find refuge in Kalm. Junon was a very far cry from a tiny little fishing village with no more than a dozen houses clustered around a small harbour. 

At least it explained the familiar scenery, and now that he really looked at it, he could easily identify the line of the cliff where the rest of Junon was supposed to be. But evidently wasn't any longer. How could one simple spell destroy an entire city, leaving nothing but a quaint, picturesque little village? It simply didn't make any real sense, and for the life of him, Reno couldn't think of anything that could have done this.

He paused for a moment in hesitation, for the first time in more than a little while feeling uncertain of what to do. Something, clearly, was very wrong, and he had no idea how to deal with it, and that in itself was terrifying. He hated feeling like there was nothing he could do, and that a situation was beyond his control. And yet here he was stranded in a place that most certainly was _not_ the Junon he'd come to know and... know. It was impossible to love Junon, even for a natural city-dweller like Reno.

But right now, he'd have welcomed the sight of the dirty city, if only because it was familiar and a known element. This place was just too alien, too strange. It was like Junon but not, and so far more threatening than simply being a new location he'd never seen before.

He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair to relieve a little of the tension, before loping over to one of the women that sat in a chair on her doorstep, carefully and thoroughly repairing holes in a large net that rested in her lap, flowing down to pool on the ground about her feet. "Hey... this is Junon right?" Reno asked her, seeking confirmation. The kid might have been simply messing with his mind after all, trying to confuse him.

"That's right," the woman confirmed. "This is our little village. Say, are you alright? You don't look very well..."

He shook his head. "I'm fine... just a bit lost is all," he said, although in truth he felt sick. Not physically ill, but sick right in the pit of his stomach, something he took a moment to recognise as a dull sense of fear. The fear of the unknown, of being completely and totally lost. He'd never been lost before, at least not really. Sure, he'd become misplaced once or twice, but never lost in what seemed to be something so totally foreign. This wasn't just a miscellaneous part of wilderness. This seemed more like an entirely different world.

"Maybe you should go sit for a while. You're pale as anything," the woman said, pushing the net to one side to provide space for Reno to settle on the doorstep.

He did so, a little too confused to actually argue with the woman. "Where's it gone? There's supposed to be a city here... a big one. Shops and offices, big ships in the port. My friends. Where's it all gone?"

"Oh, there's never been a city here, not as long as my family's lived here. There's a city to the north though, but no one ever bothers us here," the woman told him. "Stay right here, and I'll get you a drink."

He wasn't sure he wanted one, but she seemed fairly insistent, and he did need to find out what was going on. When she returned, she pressed a mug of warm liquid into his hands, and he took a sip, recognising the dark drink as a heavy black coffee. He'd likely be bouncing off the walls after drinking all of this, he reflected with a light laugh. Again the woman seemed determined and forceful however, so he obediently drank the coffee.

After he'd drank his way through half the mug, Reno noticed the coffee wasn't having quite the effect on him that he'd been anticipating. Instead of entering a state of hyperactive sensitivity and awareness, he felt only increasingly tired and sleepy, until even keeping his eyes open was an increasing struggle. Perhaps that can had hit his head harder than he'd originally thought; he'd always been prone to suffering excessively from even minor blows to the cranium, with concussions being the most common injury he received.

"You look tired. Come inside and rest," the woman told him, and he felt certain he could catch something odd about her tone of voice, although he couldn't quite work out what it was. If he'd been able to wake up a little, maybe he could figure it out, since he'd been trained to detect a person's true meaning by the way they spoke. But it was increasingly difficult to remain focused, to the point where he only just managed to discern her words at all.

Reno felt her pull him to his feet, and he staggered slightly, soon coming to lean against her as she half lead and half dragged him into her home. He could hear her murmuring about how he'd been looking so sickly, and being so scrawny couldn't be good for him, and what he needed was some rest.

Again, he couldn't resist as she escorted him into the bedroom and pushed him onto the bed. This was far too strange, even in this state the red-head could sense that. He'd been feeling fine, if a little sick with something he knew was fear and fear alone. And healthy concern for his situation didn't cause this, he knew that. There was only one other option, one word that dominated his mind as he lost consciousness. Drugged.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno and Final Fantasy VII still don't belong to me; I'm just borrowing. The standard really... I mean no harm.

Author's Notes - I know this chapter is shorter than the last. This is how long the first chapter was supposed to be. Well maybe a little longer than this. And this one wanted to be shorter really, but I got hit by inspiration, so here it is. I'm mean, I know, ending a second chapter with a kind of cliffhanger. I like cliffhangers.

Thanks to Tijuana Pirate and WrexSoul for the reviews. I would mention the meaning of Ouroboros, but it would somewhat ruin my plot, so you'll have to bear with me on this. It will come up in later chapters, when it's time to explain a little of what's going on. And for Reno's optimism, I guess I just like him as a happy guy; nearly everyone writes him being darker and more depressed, but I think the lighter side of him works just as well.

Again, my thanks to Phoenix for the beta-reading and the poking me to write, which is how an update happened so quickly. Well, that and the reviews; they are an incredible motivator, so please feel free to provide more reviews. Again, I promise not to leave the cliffhanger too long. Actually the next chapter is one I'm really looking forward to writing...

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	3. Manipulation

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter Three - Manipulation **

* * *

This time it wasn't the wash of waves against a stony beach that hit his senses, but something else entirely. Dark, empty streets surrounded him, reminding him powerfully of the Slums of Midgar, eerily familiar and yet somewhat unreal. The air felt thick and heavy, the stench of the pollution seeming intense enough to dull out all his other senses, and he could barely discern even the slightest sound. This, more than anything, threw him a little off balance. Cities were never quiet, especially ones like Midgar.

Reno took several steps forward, talking along the street and keeping his eyes alert for the slightest movements. Everything was cloaked in shadows, the street stretching away before him in shades of grey and black, while the alleyways to each side were of a black far too deep and pure to be entirely natural. He noticed with each step he took that his feet made no sound against the concrete of the street, not so much as an echo in the incredibly invasive silence, so dense and all-consuming that his imagination began to create sounds, noises in the deep shadows.

He whirled around as he heard something nearby, perhaps only a few feet to his left. It was something that sounded disturbingly like a large, serpentine monster moving in the shadows, although when he glared into the darkness, there was nothing. There were no detectible movements, not glimmer of light on eyes or fangs, and no further sounds. But even so, the red-head couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Moving away from the shadowed alley to the left, Reno loped into the centre of the street, his gaze traveling upwards to what could perhaps have been the sky, although there were no stars or clouds. Under the Plates then perhaps? This truly was Midgar then, although it still didn't feel right. It was too silent, and it didn't feel quite real to him. The shades of grey around him only enhanced that sensation. Everything was grey but himself, a few bangs of fiery red hair falling into his eyes confirming that, and a hint of purple in the corner of his eye.

Purple? He whipped around, again to the left, searching the shadows there for whatever this bluish-purple thing had been. It had been moving. Whatever was stalking him was purple. That was completely and utterly of no use whatsoever, although he remembered vaguely that some of the demonic houses that stalked Midgar's alleys had been purple.

But no, this wasn't a house. His instincts told him it was something quieter, and more organic in nature, and he almost went as far as to think of the word reptilian. What the hell?

* * *

Now there was simply darkness, but no longer silence. There were voices above him, two of them. They didn't seem to be aware of the fact that he could hear them. They couldn't see him, he guessed. His back was pressed firmly against a smooth, clean feeling surface; an internal wall perhaps? Too warm to be glass, and too sleek to be stone or concrete. He was in a room with these two perhaps, observing them from the shadows. But it was too dark to see.

He took in a slow breath, trying to keep it silent, as he didn't want his presence to be detected. It was a deeper breath than he'd have liked however, and audible. The air smelled sweet, almost herby, yet with a more pungent undertone to it that was almost drowned out by the herbs. That perhaps was the intent, to hide the unpleasant scent that hung in the air, in favour of a more tolerable one. Reno resisted the urge to sneeze.

The conversation paused for a few moments, perhaps suspicious of him, but soon continued. They weren't too concerned about being spied on it would seem.

"You did the right thing. He could be dangerous," one voice said, the tone filled with authority, yet a sense of kindness too, as if some respect was held for the other speaker.

"He seemed strange. And his eyes... I've never seen anything like them. It can't be normal," the second voice responded. "I couldn't have him just running around."

"Definitely not. He's small, but from the scars on him, he knows how to fight," the first voice spoke again.

Reno reflected that it almost sounded like they were talking about him; he was fully aware of how he appeared to others after all. A scrawny guy, albeit a tall one, and covered from head to toe in various scars, most of which had been inflicted by Strife and his pals. And the Mako eyes, of course. Maybe these people did know he was there, listening to them?

After a moment or two, as his mind forced itself more in the direction of full consciousness, he became aware of an uncomfortable sensation around his ankles and wrists. He was tied, he realised without much surprise, and quickly realised that the smooth surface he was pressed against was the sheets of a bed. He'd been drugged, he remembered. That explained a lot, both his current situation, and the strange images that had been swirling through his mind just a few moments ago. Why dream of Midgar though?

No time to worry about it now, he had to work out what was going on. Reno shifted position, pulling experimentally at the bonds around his wrists, letting out a mildly irritated grunt as he did so, and opening his eyes. His gaze flicked around the room quickly, taking in his scenery in a few moments, before coming to rest on the two people staring at him. One of them was the woman that had insisted on giving him coffee. Drugged coffee no less. The other was an older man with the air of authority; evidently a leader of some description.

"Ah, it seems our guest is awake. And yes, I see what you mean about the eyes. Rather disturbing, I must say," the man said, his own dark brown eyes fixing onto Reno's softly glowing ice blue ones.

"It's not disturbing. Just Mako..." Reno responded, almost cursing himself at the way his words slurred awkwardly over his tongue. He hated being drugged, he really did. Despite being awake now, he didn't feel fully with it, and knew that even if he weren't bound, his reactions would be slowed. Even so, they wouldn't be expecting much from him, if they'd only tied his hands and feet with mere rope, and left him on the bed. Even still partially drugged he could take them without problem. But no, not now. Strategy, Tseng had always said.

"And what exactly is Mako?" the woman asked, looking skeptically at him.

"It's this stuff that your soul's made of, and you can burn it to make electricity, and it makes your eyes glow if you get exposed to it. Am I a prisoner?" he asked, struggling a little until he managed to work himself up into a seated position, if only so he was able to study his captors more closely.

"Yes, you are. At least for the time being. There will be a police officer arriving in a few days, and you'll be turned over to him," the man said, his tone of voice clipped and professional.

"I haven't done anything wrong," Reno protested. "Come on, what do you think I'm gonna do? Do I look like a criminal?"

This, evidently, was something of a pointless question, because the man nodded calmly. "As a matter of fact, you do. Your appearance alone suggests you're on the run, and you _were_ injured."

"I got hit on the head with a can of beans!" Again the objections, and he was beginning to feel distinctly misunderstood. So what if he was scruffy looking? He'd always been casual in the way he dressed, and not having any money now hadn't helped that any. It hardly made him a criminal, although admittedly there was a kind of irony in this. The Turks had always been the ones to do Shinra's dirty work, all the illegal stuff. Here was the first time he was genuinely innocent, at least of any crimes these people thought he'd committed, and yet here they were treating him like a criminal. There was no way they could possibly know who he was, no way.

"And the injury to your arm? The weapons you were carrying?" The village leader seemed very distrusting of his word, even more so after the Turk's remark about being hit with a can of beans, which did seem unlikely in the face of things.

"I got attacked. I was working like my boss told me, and some guys tried to steal the money. Good thing I had those weapons else they would've sliced me to bits," he explained, trying to avoid talking about just what his job had entailed, simply because it was so degrading and humiliating.

"You know that sounds like criminal activity right there," the woman pointed out. "Argus, I think you're doing the right thing. We don't want his kind here."

"I quite agree, Maggie," the Junon leader, Argus, responded with a nod, before turning his gaze back to his captive. "Now then young man, how about you give us your name?"

"Why?" Reno asked suspiciously, wary of Argus' intent.

"Firstly, you'll fare better if you're seen to be cooperating, and secondly, if you do cooperate, Maggie here will keep you fed until Officer Radford arrives in two days time."

The red-head contemplated this, and then shook his head. "Not good odds, from where I am. See, Maggie here's already given me drugged coffee, so how do I know anything I eat won't be poisoned or something? And I don't think me behaving nicely is going to make any difference, so I think I'll just keep my name to myself."

"Maggie only drugged you because it was necessary to do so. You have my word that you'll be treated fairly from now on, although naturally you can't be permitted to leave this room. Any attempt to harm Maggie, and you will... regret such actions. We're not by nature cruel people, but we protect our own," Argus said, and the threat in his voice was easy enough to detect, especially to one like Reno, who'd been trained to recognise meanings within words. It was clear Argus wasn't bluffing, and would carry out his threat.

"Don't worry. I'm harmless, really," Reno replied, suspecting that like him, Argus would be able to detect the underlying meaning in his tone of voice. Just looking at the red-head was enough to show he was far from harmless, but his words were as much of a promise to behave as his captors would get from him. He had full intent of escaping at the earliest opportunity. There was no way he intended to still be here when the police officer arrived in Junon.

Not that he was afraid, because he knew that in a one on one battle, he was capable of far more than merely holding his own. If he'd had the opportunity to take out Strife on a personal basis, rather than encountering him in a three to one situation, things might have turned out very differently. So there was no doubt that this officer could be of any threat to him, but Reno didn't fancy actually killing the man. Far too much hassle to deal with, on the whole.

"Indeed," Argus replied with a slight tone of contempt to his voice. "How about you give us your name now?" he suggested after a moment.

Reno shook his head. "I don't think so. Unless we make a deal?"

"And what deal's that?" the village leader asked him, a glimmer of optimism appearing on his face, as if he genuinely thought that the red haired captive was going to cooperate. His hopes were soon dashed across the proverbial windscreen however.

"How about I tell you my name if you let me go?" Reno said, his features breaking into an amused grin. "Oh, and give me back my weapons too. And my materia."

"What is this 'materia'?" Argus asked, his objection to Reno's idea of a deal being forgotten for a moment or two as he questioned the apparently unfamiliar word.

"The pretty coloured stones."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure Maggie can give those back to you, if they mean so much to you."

Reno couldn't believe his luck; they didn't know what materia was, and so were willing to return the handful of orbs to him. This would certainly assist with his escape. "Yeah, if you could... they were a present from..." he trailed off, deliberately letting his voice take a sad and dejected tone. He dropped his gaze away from the man and woman watching him, gazing forlornly at his hands.

Argus stared at him, expression softening slightly at the sound of his captives tone. "I'm sorry... do you want to talk about it? Maggie, go and get his stones."

The woman turned to leave the room, leaving the two males alone. Reno looked up at Argus, and shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it... painful memories... those stones are all I have left of her..."

"It's alright, I understand. My wife was killed in a storm last year, so I know how you feel. Loss is a very difficult thing to bear, I know," the man told him, his expression now slightly pained himself, yet still appearing sympathetic towards Reno.

The former Turk merely nodded silently, more through the need not to sound too cheerful than from grief. The last thing he needed was to give away the fact that actually the materia was just materia to him, with the exclusion of the nearly mastered Fire, but that was another matter entirely. It certainly wasn't as much of a sob story as he was making out. For the sake of impending escape, Reno was perfectly capable of behaving like everyone he'd ever known had been brutally murdered by a deranged psychopath. It was where a naturally emotive voice was such an advantage.

After a few moments, Maggie returned, depositing the orbs of materia on Reno's lap. He counted them quickly, making sure they were all present, and they were. It seemed true that the people of Junon had absolutely no idea how much power was stored in these softly glowing spheres, and his two captors were utterly clueless that they were handing him the means with which to escape. It was too easy, it really was.

"Thank you..." Reno murmured quietly, moving his bound hands so he could pick up a materia, one of the summons and roll it around between his fingers in a thoughtful manner. His pensive expression must have looked like he was thinking of the one who'd given him the orbs, although in fact his thoughts lay more with how he was going to use these to escape.

"They're really quite beautiful," Maggie commented, drawing Reno away from his thoughts. "I've never seen colours like those before."

"They're common where I come from. Not very valuable at all, but... they have sentimental value for me..." He spoke slowly, really laying it on thick; maybe they would feel sympathetic enough to untie his hands too. But, easy as getting his materia had been, the red-head couldn't have everything his way.

"I think we shall be leaving. I have work to do, but Maggie will keep an eye on you. If you behave, there'll be dinner in a few hours," Argus said, and with a curt nod to the woman, he strode quickly from the room. Maggie hesitated for a moment or two, attention still held on the spheres in Reno's lap, before also moving from the room.

Left on his own, Reno began scanning the room thoroughly, starting to piece together the plan for his escape. He'd stay for dinner of course, since it felt like a while since he'd eaten, and then he'd leave. The middle of the night seemed like the best option for him, since the village would be at its quietest then, and he had no intention of being seen leaving. He didn't want to risk recapture, since these people evidently knew nothing about what had happened to the world. Reno needed to be somewhere else, hopefully somewhere he could find out what was going on.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno, materia, Junon and Final Fantasy VII don't belong to me; they are property of Square. Argus and Maggie are mine though, for what little that means.

Author's Notes - No cliffhanger this time. Aren't I nice? Seriously though, I can be nice to Reno sometimes. At least he's conscious at the end of this chapter. Alright, I wasn't intending for the materia thing to happen, but the opportunity opened itself up, and I couldn't resist. All in all, this chapter was a lot of fun to write. 

This was an update almost entirely free of poking too, at least from Phoenix. Everyone else did more than enough to make up for it though. Is poking hazardous to my health at all?

Tijuana Pirate: I posted more see? I feel most productive with all these quick updates actually. And yes, I'll admit to being inherently evil. You'll notice as this story continues that I'll be inflicting cliffhangers on you all as often as possible. Eh, that's gonna put you off now, isn't it? However, in the course of the Beta-reading of this chapter, Phoenix has informed me that cliffhangers won't be permitted to hang for long, because she'll poke me.

PBeM Addy: Thanks for the reviews, and feel free to continue guessing at my plot. I will reveal nothing however. I reserve the right to be cryptic and vague when it comes to my scheming; you should know that about me by now dude.

Sabriel41: Looking up the Ouroboros mythology probably won't help you a lot, at least I don't think so. I'm being pretty obscure with this, but it'll all make sense. Maybe only when I reach the last chapter, though. Ouroboros is something that appears in a lot of mythology, all around the world, although my first contact with it was through Norse mythology.

WrexSoul: This story wasn't intended to be funny, not really, but I guess it is in a few places. Not intentional though. And although things may seem random at the moment, there is a definite aim in mind. Although I'll admit the cans of beans weren't actually part of the plot as such.

Viki: Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like the story.

And... these were much longer Author's Notes than I intended, but... I need a break from writing for a few moments before I go on to Chapter Four. I have plans, but need to collect my thoughts. I'm sure I'll get poked anyway, even though I'm probably actually writing the next update as you read this.

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	4. The Great Escape

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter Four - The Great Escape**

* * *

Dinner had been fish, which hadn't surprised him in the least. The whole village was based around fishing, as near as he could guess. They were probably obsessed with it, which was probably why they'd never heard of materia or Mako before. And the smell of fish on the air seemed likely to have addled their brains somewhat, although not enough for Reno's liking. 

Maggie'd had the sense not to untie his wrists so he could eat properly, and had merely cut his food into small chunks and given him a fork. Not a knife, in case he tried to cut himself free. He might have been surprised at these acts of cunning, were it not for the fact that it had been she who'd drugged him in the first place, landing him in this position.

When he'd complained that he couldn't eat easily with his hands tied, even if the fish fillets had been chopped into bite sized cubes, she'd offered to feed him herself. Reno had decided he'd rather manage on his own, since even when bound and held prisoner, he was determined to keep his pride. In retaliation for the offer however, he'd driven her insane with mindless banter between mouthfuls.

His explanation of how the butterflies were going to take over the world had left her in hysterics however, something which Reno wasn't sure if he should feel amused or offended about. Those were his personal beliefs she was mocking with her laughter, but then it wasn't like anyone else's opinions had ever mattered to him before. Getting offended would only be a waste of time too, especially since he was going to be gone soon anyway. As soon as it seemed like she was asleep, he was leaving.

Even so, Reno felt his plan was a little vague and hazy in places, but in the absence of possession of his weapons, it was the best he could manage. Somehow though, he was determined to at least retrieve his mag-rod on the way out; there was no way in hell he was leaving his favoured weapon here, not when he might need it. Once his departure was noticed, it seemed fairly likely that Argus would have this police officer contact whichever station he was based at.

Sitting on the bed of the room he'd been confined in, he was sorting through his materia, dividing them into two piles at first. Those he'd need for his escape he kept out, while the others he started to drop one by one into his pockets. This action was a little awkward with tied hands, although at least he'd loosened the bonds around his ankles. That was one thing Maggie hadn't considered, it would seem. Now the ropes were loose enough that he could kick them off in an instant.

During the meal, Reno'd managed to get some information from Maggie, little tidbits she'd let slip into the conversation. These were things she clearly hadn't realised were important and valuable, at least to a rather lost Turk. The fact that there were many tiny villages spread haphazardly around the local landscape, patrolled by no more than a dozen police who served more the purpose of a ranger than that of law enforcement. Most issues of crime and punishment were dealt with by the villages themselves, although external matters were referred to these roaming officers. Reno was one such 'external matter' it seemed.

The largest village in the area was a place named Darton, which was almost the size of a small town; Reno suspected it would be similar to Kalm in many respects. But he'd never heard of anywhere named Darton, or any of the other miniscule little villages Maggie had mentioned. And Junon itself was so tiny, so insignificant. Just a tiny little village, like he'd heard it had been in the pre-Shinra days. It was like some weird time-warp.

He froze, one glowing green orb of materia still resting in his hand. Could it be? It seemed a bit far-fetched, even for Reno's often very active imagination, but then, it did seem to explain a lot of things. Why Junon was just a tiny little village, why no one here had heard of materia or Mako. He'd have to think about this a little later, after he'd escaped. Much as he'd like to pursue these thoughts right now, there was a time and a place.

The sound of muffled heavy breathing could just about be heard, and the light in the adjoining hallway had been put out; it was a lamp of some description, powered by a solid fuel of some description. Despite the weird look he'd received at asking what it was, Maggie had answered him with the word 'paraffin', which had made as much sense to Reno as 'materia' had made to her. Maybe it was one of those weird fuels the world had used before Shinra had discovered the relative merits of Mako.

Touching the lamp out of curiousity had provided him with a mild burn, and an important lesson learned. Anything that burned was inevitably hot, even this 'paraffin' stuff. They always said that curiousity killed the Turk too. At least that burn could be treated as preparation for his escape, he reflected. It was a talent, it really was, being able to find something good in every situation. If he didn't, he'd probably go mad. Or get really depressed. Or both. Or worse.

He refocused onto his escape, keeping his attention locked on the materia in his hands, coaxing forth a small spell, one powerful enough to slowly burn through the rope binding his wrists. He tightened his jaw, biting slightly into his lip as the tiny fire spell also burned the sensitive skin around his wrists. The pain might have bothered him, were it not for the fact that he knew full well it was for a good cause. Not that he believed in 'good causes' as such, but his impending freedom was a good a one as any, and certainly more worthwhile than a lot of others he could think of.

As the little flame continued burning, Reno occupied his attention on kicking the binds on his legs away, before silently getting to his feet. And then, with a sudden jerk and a hiss of pain, he pulled his hands sharply apart, snapping the partially burned through rope. He was free. Idly touching a hand to his right wrist, where his watch was rubbing irritatingly against the burned skin, Reno pulled the time-keeping device off and stuffed it into his pocket; it would probably be useless here anyway, until he found out what the local time was. It was like traveling to a different part of the world, where the time was offset by a few hours.

Wishing that Rude wasn't the only one that carried curative magic with him, Reno moved lightly over to the door, treading carefully and avoiding the parts of the floor he knew would creak if he trod on them. A lot of seemingly frustrated pacing back and forth in the room had given him that information. Maggie had really underestimated him and his comprehensive Turk training, that was for certain.

But then, where was the evidence that he was anything more than a common criminal carrying a few nice weapons and some pretty stones? There was none. There was nothing to indicate that he was more than capable of escaping his rather simple prison. Reno had always thrived on a healthy dose of deception, especially when it caused others to underestimate him. Many wrote off his lanky frame as confirmation that he wasn't capable of fighting, usually to their grave expense. Reno knew how to use his advantages.

Gently, he crouched by the door, studying the lock. Naturally she had locked him in here. That wasn't a major issue for him however. Another piece of evidence that promoted the idea that he'd somehow been transported through time was the simplicity of the lock keeping him in the room. It wasn't even sufficiently complex to warrant the construction of a rudimentary lockpick, not when simply sliding a plastic card through the gap between the door and the wooden frame holding it would be enough to break the lock. With that in mind, he removed his wallet from his pocket, searching through it until he came across his old keycard. It wasn't like he'd be needing it anymore, since the Shinra Building was a pile of rubble in the distant future.

Reno pressed the card in the small gap, forcing it into the area where the locking mechanism connected the door with the wall. There was a soft click, and he froze, remaining completely motionless until he was certain his captor hadn't heard the sound. There was no other sound from Maggie beyond the rhythmic, somewhat nasal breathing, and so he slowly pulled the door open, holding it steady and creeping out into the hallway. 

He closed the door once again, hearing the lock click back into place, which was an added blessing; it was possible no one would notice he'd gone until much later tomorrow, whenever Maggie decided to feed him next. Speaking of the woman in question, it was time to ensure she didn't wake up on his way out of the building. He knew there was a bell attached to the door that rang whenever it was opened or closed, something he had previously associated with shops rather than homes. In a small village like this however, it seemed likely that the inhabitants just wandered freely in and out of each other's houses.

He didn't want Maggie waking when he opened the front door however, so he crept to her room, crouching low by the side of the open doorway with his back against the wall. He listened to her breathing, which sounded almost like a snore. Wait, no. Two snores, one much softer than the other, but definitely two sets of deep breaths. So Maggie had a husband; she hadn't mentioned him, and Reno hadn't heard him come in earlier, although he had taken a nap after he'd finished with dinner.

His internal body clock was a little messed up, since while it was clearly night, it would have been mid-morning back at home. Again he found himself reminded of the varying time zones of the world he'd known. But because he was aware of the fact that his body and mind would want to sleep at this particular time, he'd prepared and slept earlier. Which meant he'd missed out on a vital piece of information that may effect the outcome of this little escape attempt.

The young red-head's eyes flicked down to the materia in his hand, frowning slightly, and carefully shifting in his crouched position so as to root around in his pockets, withdrawing a handful of materia. Sometimes he really wished the magical orbs didn't glow, such as when he was trying to work in the dark. However, he quickly caught sight of the one he wanted, and returned the others to his pocket.

With the soft green and vibrant blue materia held close to each other in his hand, as good a link between them as he could provide in the unexpected circumstances, Reno focused on the pair. It had been a while since he'd used paired materia like this, and so it took a few moments of pure concentration to will both of them into life. "All. Sleepel," he murmured softly, casting the spell on the couple in the bedroom.

He waited, poised for action should the spell fail and somehow alert the pair to his activities, but instead their breathing only became deeper. They wouldn't awake now until morning, not unless the house literally fell on top of them, and perhaps not even then. The Seal materia wasn't one he'd used often, but he knew its magic was surprisingly powerful for what it was.

Confidant that he wouldn't be disturbed, and yet still wary, he crept through the house, keeping low to the ground in a manner he'd previously used only on covert missions for Shinra. It felt somewhat reassuring though, both to be using the skills he'd been trained for, and to remember the old days. The old days that were both only a few months ago, and countless years in the future. He'd really have to try and figure that out later.

Slinking silently into the kitchen, Reno began a search for his weapons. He knew they would be around here somewhere, since Maggie had mentioned that the police officer was interested in taking them for evidence. If this really was the past, it might be necessary to retrieve as many of them as possible, not just his electro-mag rod. Technology in his time was far more advanced than anything here, and far from any thoughts of maintaining the flow of causality, Reno wanted all the advantages he could get, and didn't want anyone else to benefit from his weapons. They would give him an edge over anything he might have to fight. So would the Mako infusion too, for that matter.

After checking the kitchen table and a couple of the nearby cupboards, his ice blue eyes soon noticed the door off to one side. A larder perhaps? He moved over to investigate, pulling the door open, and revealing the shelves within. One the lowest shelf rested Maggie's fine china, the crockery she used for visitors who weren't assumed to be wanted criminals. Reno's dinner of fish had been served on an old, chipped and cracked plate, rather than these much more delicate pieces, painted around the edges with swirls of a soft pink. How... twinkly.

On the shelves above, there was various food items, and in the spirit of continued forethought and preparation, Reno was tempted to take some for the journey. It was very rare indeed that he thought things out this clearly. Only when there was no one else around to do it for him, or his immediate survival depended on it. He was more the type to take life as it came and deal with situations as they arose. The situation now suggested that in the near future he might need some self-sufficiency, and that started with food.

No, it started with his weapons. It went on to food after that. His hands reached up to the top shelf, which was a little above the height of his head; how Maggie had ever reached up here was something Reno couldn't quite figure out. His questing hand soon tightened around a familiar shape however, and he pulled the mag-rod down, holding it in his hands for a moment before clipping it to his belt in its customary place. A few more moments of searching allowed him to retrieve his gun as well, tucking it into his belt in such a manner that it was concealed by the loose folds of his shirt. It never paid to let people know he had more than one weapon on him. 

Okay, so now he was armed and could be considered dangerous, Reno started a search of the rest of the kitchen, soon discovering an old, rather worn backpack, into which he quickly stuffed some food items that wouldn't spoil after a few days. With foresight that once again caught him by surprise, he also packed some teatowels, which would make serviceable bandages should they be required, a box of matches, a large kitchen knife and a circular object he guessed was a compass. He could probably figure out how to use it, and it might be useful. 

This seemed like everything he needed, and so pleased with the results of his escape, Reno headed for the door. All in all, this had been very easy, to the extent where had this been a mission, he'd have expected it to be a trap. But these people simply didn't have the expertise to make things difficult for a trained Turk. That was the truth of the matter, pure and simple. But it wouldn't be a good idea to be getting all cocky just yet; he still needed to get out of the village. But basically, it was in the bag. 

The bell attached to the top of the doorframe made a soft chime as he pushed the door open, and yet thanks to his spell Maggie and her husband remained asleep. All too easy, it really was. But that in itself was better than having to fight his way out. With a satisfied smirk spreading across his features, Reno stepped out into the empty street. 

* * *

Disclaimer - Still not mine... except Argus, Maggie, and Maggie's unnamed husband.

Author's Notes - How's this for a quick update? Actually, I have a confession to make. No, not as severe as having written all this and simply putting out a chapter every day or so. I'm a fast typer, and if I have enough of an idea of what I want to write, I can knock out several thousand words in a few hours. It's the ideas that take the time, not the actual writing.

For this chapter, I actually had two things I wanted to do, and I haven't actually managed to achieve even one of them properly. Almost, but not quite. I'm still deciding how the end of Reno's escape from Junon will go. The other thing I had in mind will have to wait until next chapter, or maybe the one after. As yet, I'm unsure. Depends how the next chapter goes really.

Sabriel: I know most of the fights with the Turks in the game were 3:2, with the exception of a couple. In the fight at Sector Seven though, it's Reno against Cloud, Tifa and Barret, and he gets completely mullered, to the extent where Elena is hired to do his work while he recovers. In the three-on-two fights, the Turks are more challenging, and reappear fairly soon, indicating maybe they didn't get that badly hurt. In the one three-on-three fight, my group got killed. Twice. So a one-on-one between Reno and Cloud would be interesting... may have to write one of those actually...

Tijuana Pirate: Poking me to write more does in fact help, so please continue. Although, now that this chapter's been written, chapter five may not happen for two days. Depends how much I write now, and how much I achieve tomorrow. I suppose this chapter could be a kind of cliffhanger, but not a serious one. This is solely because I haven't actually decided what I'm going to do next, which is why the chapter stops there. I'll let you wonder about whether Reno will make it out of Junon or not. Mwahahaha! (Yes, I evil laugh too...)

WrexSoul: I like letting Reno be clever; that's a lot of what this chapter is about actually. Not sure about characterisation here, but I see him as a smart guy, so I had to give him a chance to use those brains. And Turk training has to be useful for something right? I guess maybe I'm just being nice to him for a chapter or two, before I start getting evil again.

* * *


	5. Wilderness Adventuring

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Five - Wilderness Adventuring**

* * *

There were no electric street lights in this world, no greenish hued beacons of light to banish the shadows that clung to every building and object, down to the smallest stone. But for the lack of street lights, it was still easy to see, the coastal village lit with a light from above. A full moon, hovering large and round in the heavens, surrounded by a wash of faintly twinkling stars. It was this moonlight that lit the streets of Junon, even in the dead of night, this same moonlight that reflected on the almost still waters beyond the harbour. The faint lapping of water against the harbour walls was audible, yet a soft sound, almost peaceful, as was the more distant noise of gentle waves crashing meekly against the pebbles of the beach. There was a soft breeze coming in from offshore, cool and smelling faintly of salt, water, and distant shores, the strength of the wind barely enough to disrupt already ruffled hair.

Reno tilted his head upwards slightly, catching the breeze in his nose, reflecting it was a vast improvement on the stink of fish in the village during the day. A hint of the exotic was just about detectible, and his mind turned to the continent he knew lay out beyond the horizon, idly wondering if things would be so different over there as well. It seemed likely; Shinra'd had a powerful influence on the world he'd grown up in, and in comparison this place was so innocent and untouched.

His eyes widened slightly as his gaze fixed on the moon above. "Wow..." he murmured softly under his breath. He'd never realised what the sky would look like when unblemished by the brighter lights created by humans. Never realised how haunting a full moon could look. The feeling of mild mesmerisation were similar to those he'd felt the first time he'd ever seen the sky, the first time he'd ever gone up onto the Plates in Midgar, and looked up, and up, and up into the endless blue sky above him.

The effect wasn't as powerful this time, simply because he was used to the presence of the sky now. He'd grown used to the idea that most of the world wasn't in fact covered by huge metal structures cutting out the light and weather. Now rain had been a shock to him the first time he'd encountered that too. 'Water falling out of the sky? What the fuck is up with that?'

Besides, he didn't have time to be standing around gazing at the moon, and so shifting the weight of the backpack on his shoulders, he started walking, leaving Junon behind in a casual gait he used often for traveling long distances. Not that he'd ever spent vast quantities of walking, but he seriously doubted a helicopter would be a possibility here. Perhaps in Darton there would be the possibility of a car, but other than that it was down to walking. Almost a shame his collection of materia didn't include a Chocobo Lure.

All in all, the moonlight landscape was peaceful, and quiet, broken only by the sound of the waves against the shoreline and the whisper of the wind blowing through the grass. Reno's immediate response to this was the question of where all the monsters were, but of course, without Shinra, there were no monsters. Just quiet little fluffy animals that went about doing their thing. And butterflies! The red-head suppressed a grin at that thought.

Once he was clear of the outlying regions of Junon, he stopped, looking around to take his bearings. A sense of direction had never been his strong point when not in a city; naturally he'd always been able to navigate through Midgar with ease. But in the countryside, with all this open space around him, he didn't quite know which direction to take. In more ways than one in fact.

Firstly, there was the physical direction to take, guessing that he would need to find another settlement, preferably a larger one than Junon. Darton seemed like the obvious choice, although Reno already suspected it wouldn't be of much use. It was just going to be a glorified village, he could tell. What he needed was a city. What he needed was Midgar.

The reason for that was the second direction, a more metaphysical one. He was lost in time, and so he clearly needed to find a way home. He just wasn't sure how. There'd been some weird magic going on, although he wasn't sure if it was a new type of magic altogether, or simply two spells mixing in a bad way. His knowledge of the more obscure magic types was hazy to say the least. What he needed, and he hated to admit it, was some help.

But who would know about magic and time travel in these times, before any real technology existed, and evidently before the power of materia and Mako had been discovered? He was most likely to find someone that would be able to offer advise if he was in a city, and the biggest city he knew was Midgar. If it actually existed in these times. It had to, didn't it? Maybe not in the same scale he'd known, but there had to be some remnant of it.

Midgar was to the north of Junon, Reno knew, but there was a wall of nearly impassable cliffs and mountains separating the two; the more common route to the other half of the continent was taking a course to the south and east, going through the Mythril Mines. If those existed in this world. Too many uncertainties, far more than Reno would have considered acceptable had this been a mission.

Still, with an aim in mind, he shifted his backpack once again, this time to root around inside for the compass he'd picked up from Maggie's kitchen. Soon finding the device, he stared at it. He vaguely remembered the use of a compass had been covered in his training, but he'd never needed to use one since then. If he'd become lost, he'd typically just carried on going until he found somewhere he recognised, or else let Rude work out where they were. Perhaps, on the whole, he should have paid more attention to how his best friend had actually done that.

Well, he'd just have to think about this logically. The face of the compass had four points, labeled with letters, clearly indicating north, south, east and west. And since the spin-y point thing always faced north, then lining up that needle point with the letter 'N' would show him which direction north was. He did this, and then looked in the indicated direction. Pretty much back the way he'd come, towards Junon. Therefore, he'd been going roughly south to start with.

He wanted to go south east, and so he studied the compass a little longer, and then set off once again, this time heading away from the coast, towards distant mountains, and a slightly closer greyish green blur that seemed likely to be a forest of some description. A satisfied smirk crept across his face; this really wasn't so difficult after all. He was smart, he was well-trained, and he seriously kicked ass at this survival in the wilderness thing.

* * *

It was several hours later before the sun slowly rose over the eastern horizon, filling his eyes with brilliant orange glare set against the vibrant backdrop of a reddish sky and softly pink fluffy little clouds. He had to lower his gaze her, and shield his eyes with his hand; his sunglasses seemed to have become lost somewhere in the violent journey that had forced him into this time, something which mildly irritated him now. The first time in months that he'd actually had the problem of the sun shining in his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Still, he wasn't far away from the forest now, which had actually began to look like a forest now, rather than an amorphous blob of shadowed green on the horizon. And in the forest, at least he'd have some shade. Maybe he'd stop for breakfast, since he'd been walking for hours and felt he deserved a break.

And as he soon discovered, daylight in these places of grassland bordering on a marshy quagmire in places meant tiny little biting flies that very quickly added to his irritation. Now this was exactly why Shinra had been a good thing; Mako pollution had either killed or mutated all the wildlife, so that little biting flies either died or became big biting flies. At least big biting flies were easier to hit than these nasty little bastards. There was only one thing for it.

"Fire2! All! Yeah, bite on that! Not so tasty now am I?" It could be said that an isolated Reno was inclined towards actions he normally wouldn't have considered taking. He didn't enjoy being on his own for extended periods of time, not really. But then, likely as not he would have torched all the little midge thingies even if he'd been traveling with Rude and Elena, or anyone else for that matter. Being eaten was not something he was going to tolerate.

He laughed lightly at the now biting fly free environment around him, before continuing his course towards the quickly approaching forest. Of course, the flies only stayed away for a while, since there were far more of them than even a fairly powerful All materia could cope with. Naturally, it was an annoyed, irritated red-head that finally entered the forest, muttering obscenities under his breath about insects in general. At least they hadn't followed him into the forest though; the land was drier here, raised up onto a small foothill, the beginnings of the mountain range he was aiming for. Biting fly thingies didn't like places that weren't half swamp, it seemed.

The forest was an old one, with huge trees stretching up towards the sky. They were, Reno had to admit, rather impressive to say the least. This forest didn't exist in his time either; destroyed by Shinra, no doubt. Some of these trees had to be ancient though; he doubted he could stretch his arms the full way around the trunks of even the smallest of them.

There was short, bushy undergrowth around the trees and beneath his feet, enough to give the overall impression that this forest was most definitely alive, but not so overgrown as to make passage difficult. Scattered about there were even some oddly shaped rocks with little creeper plants growing on them. It was sort of pretty, in a very leafy, nature-filled kind of way.

Finding a small patch of clear ground by the side of one of the odd rocks, Reno dropped his backpack onto the bare earth, before stretching his arms out and arching his shoulders slightly, working a few kinks that had worked their way into the muscles from the hours of steady plodding towards his destination. He settled on the ground of his miniature campsite, and spilled the contents of his bag out onto the ground in front of him. It was time for breakfast.

A jar of some kind of minced fish and a few slices of a loaf of tough bread soon became the equivalent of a tuna sandwich. It was a good thing he'd taken those knives though, else he doubted he'd have ever cut through the bread. It was a loaf baked with the soul intention of never going off, so it would survive over a winter. It was rock solid, hard, and about as palatable as rubber. The fish, in turn, probably wasn't tuna, but something else entirely. Reno didn't want to know what. He ate the sandwich anyway. Beggars can't be choosers, or so they said. Not that he was a beggar, but he was hungry.

Even so, he found his mind wandering almost wistfully to the future, when he knew there'd be proper food to eat. Even Elena's attempt at toast was better than this, and Reno found himself genuinely missing having breakfast with one of his friends nearly every morning. He missed the idle banter he usually conducted on his own while Rude remained almost completely silent, and the somewhat petty arguments with Elena, who was so easy to argue with and wind up.

Reno was feeling very lonely, and very isolated, trapped here in a world he knew nothing about and not having anyone to talk to. He'd always relied on his friends to help him out in difficult times, since while he was capable of remaining optimistic for a good while, through things that would make others drown in depression and defeat, there were limits, and his innate optimism didn't hold up for long if he was lonely. Gregarious and social, the red-head genuinely hated prolonged isolation, and what was probably a full day was quite enough time to be on his own. He wanted his friends back now. He wanted his home. He wanted familiarity.

But that wasn't going to happen, not until he found a way back to his own time. He'd just have to deal with his own thoughts as best as he could, and concentrate on the immediate task at hand. Alright, so he might be feeling the effects of being isolated and alone, but moping about was not going to help him. The sooner he got his ass over to Midgar and found a way back into the future where he belonged, the sooner he'd be back with his friends. And he'd get all this done faster if he didn't just sink into depression.

With that in mind, he finished off his rubbery sandwich, and took the jar the fish had come from to a nearby stream, rinsing it clean, and then using it as a cup to take a much needed drink of water. He should have stolen a water bottle or flask or something similar from Maggie, he realised now. Even so, he thought he'd done well in terms of the preparation for this excursion. If simply forgetting something in which to carry water was the worst mistake he was going to make, he was probably going to do very well. After all, he was adaptable. He drank as much water as he wanted, and then filled the jar once again and replacing the lid, screwing it closed. The water bottle for the unprepared, yet adaptable Turk.

As he did this, something caught his eye, and he placed the jar down on the ground, before grinning at the thing in question. It was a butterfly, a fluttering brown and orange thing which was currently doing its usual fluttery thing in the bushes by the stream, before coming to land on a large flower. Reno crept towards it to get a better look; it was bigger than the butterflies in his own time, and although it was probably impossible to tell, he rather thought it looked happier too.

He moved one finger in front of the butterfly, watching as it crawled up onto it, moving its large wings back and forth. Lifting his hand once again, Reno brought the butterfly up to eye level and studied it, before smiling again. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," he told it, watching as it took off and fluttered away.

And that was enough to improve his mood. He'd been annoyed when he'd entered the forest, 'breakfast' hadn't exactly helped matters any, as it had highlighted the fact that he really was a very long way away from home, and the fact that he was very much alone had really hit him for the first time. Naturally, any excuse to cheer up a little was readily taken, and Reno liked butterflies. 

He'd been a butterfly in a previous life, or so he believed; he'd died when he'd bothered Tseng a little too much and gotten squashed. He'd been reborn with the sole purpose of coming back to drive his murderer insane. It had all made a lot of sense at the time, and these beliefs Reno had kept, developing them over time with the use of his overly active imagination.

Yes, he liked butterflies. They were silly and pointless, but it was all an act, he was certain. Butterflies would one day take over the world. Everyone needed a religion after all, including Reno. Elena thought it was silly, and had been in fits of giggles for hours after hearing about it. Rude had simply raised an eyebrow and made absolutely no comment, although Reno was sure his friend had looked slightly amused.

That memory was a good one, and Reno smiled at the thought of it. Remember the good times, stay happy, and get moving. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could tell his friends about this whole experience. They wouldn't believe him of course. Elena would probably accuse him of falling asleep at work and having an admittedly rather unusual dream. But even so, Reno would tell them, and they'd laugh, and he'd laugh, and then they'd go and have a drink. And everyone would be happy. This was a good thought.

He quickly packed his scant belongings, since they were technically now his property. There was no one to claim otherwise at least, and so they were his. His food, his knives, his box of matches and his compass, to go with his weapons and his materia. In a world where he was totally out of place, he needed to define what was actually his. He'd take the compass home with him if he could. Since his weapons and materia had come back in time with him, he should be able to take his compass forward in time. It would be proof of the fact that all this had actually happened too.

Once again Reno shouldered the backpack, wriggling a little to shift the weight until it was balanced comfortably on his back, before consulting the compass once again. A continued course to the south east seemed appropriate, at least until he was clear of the forest. Then he'd bear south along the mountains and hopefully find the Mythril Mines. 

Then it was a very simple journey to Midgar from the other side of the mountains, although there was still the swamp to deal with. He wasn't sure if the Midgar Zolom counted as a monster or a natural animal. Some monsters, like the dragons, were completely natural and not the result of Shinra's use of Mako. There were other monsters too that were perfectly natural, things like griffins and bandersnatches and such. Maybe the Midgar Zolom was also a normal occurrence. 

It wasn't as if it would be much of a problem if he had to fight a Zolom though, because he knew he was more than capable of doing so. What worried him more was that the Zoloms might not exist here, and he'd have to face something worse. Reno couldn't think of anything offhand that could be worse than a Midgar Zolom, but it could happen. Some natural creatures were more worrying than the unnatural ones; poison was far more of a problem for someone in the red-head's position than whatever magic an actual monster might use. Reno would rather face a Zolom's Beta attack than a poisoned bite. Beta hurt only once, and at the worst would be a quick death. Poison was slow, painful, and generally a much more unpleasant experience.

He pushed the problem from his mind; first he had to actually get there, and he'd always been one to improvise a situation rather than plan for every possibility in advance. Spending too much time planning meant that he'd get nothing done, and what he wanted more than anything at the moment was to get home in as short a space of time as possible. This meant acting quickly, not spending excessive amounts of time worrying about whether he'd have to fight a Midgar Zolom or not.

With this in mind, he pocketed the compass once again, and started walking in the direction it had confirmed was south east. The forest was peaceful, almost relaxing to walk through. There were more butterflies fluttering around, much to Reno's only barely concealed delight, and what he assumed were birds up in the trees, making innocent cheeps and somewhat pretty trills of song. Sunlight shone down through the leafy green canopy high above him, bathing the forest in shafts of green and gold light, and the air was almost completely motionless, barely the rustle of a single leaf. The whole experience was relaxing, and quite enjoyable; not for the first time, Reno considered the idea that maybe the world had been better before Shinra?

Soon, however, the forest thinned out, and the traveling Turk discovered what he could only assume was intended to be a road. It was a dirty, dusty trail, two very distinct grooves through the terrain with grass sprouting liberally from the raised centre. The kind of road that happened when heavy wheels contacted the same part of the ground every time. 

It seemed likely this road lead somewhere, or in theory, two somewheres. There'd be one in each direction, and so it was just a matter of choice which way he took. There was no question of him not following this road, even though after consulting the compass he discovered that neither direction was quite right. The road stretched from the north east to the south west, when he really wanted to continue towards the south east.

There was, of course, only one response to this situation, considering the impossibility of knowing which way he should take. Reno stood in the middle of the road, on the raised bump between the two gouges running across the landscape. To the left was the road running north east, and to the right was the south westerly direction. With the mag-rod in his hand, Reno pointed the tip of the weapon to the left, and then began to speak. "Eenie, meenie, miny, mo, Catch a Zolom by its toe, If it bites you let it go, Eenie, meenie, miny, mo."

The mag-rod was now pointing to the right, after the waving back and forth in time with the rhyme, and so with that essential decision out of the way, he started walking once again, taking the road that lead to the south west, wondering as he walked what he'd find at the end, and how that rhyme actually made any sense, since Midgar Zoloms didn't have toes. They didn't even have legs, for that matter.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno's not mine, he belongs to Square. However, I can claim the forest, and the Midgar Zolom rhyme. I can also claim this plot too, for that matter.

Author's Notes - I know it took me a little longer to update. I have a good reason. I hurt my hand on the day I posted the last chapter, and it hurt too much to even concentrate, let alone actually type. And then the day after I was drunk. And the same for the day after that actually.

But this chapter I'm feeling quite pleased with. I get the feeling my writing is better at the weekend and beginning of the week, and goes downhill towards the end of the week. I know not a lot really happened in this chapter, other than another look inside Reno's head. I was seriously toying with having someone see him leaving Junon and having a fight break out, but I decided against it. I'll be nice to Reno for a little while longer. The butterfly thing in this chapter refers to my story Spirituality And Butterflies, if you haven't read it. I really couldn't resist putting it in, although it did seem to work with what I was doing with the chapter.

Sabriel: In terms of word count, the last chapter was pretty similar in length to the others, excluding the first one of course, but I agree it did seem shorter, probably because not a vast amount actually happened. I managed to write nearly 4000 words on what equated to no more than maybe five actual actions. I think I will slow down a little with the chapters though. Well, I won't specifically aim to get one out every day. If it happens that way, then I will...

The Girl Next Door: Glad you're enjoying the story, and thanks for the review.

X-WorldWar-X: As with above, I'm glad you like it, and thank you for reviewing. As I'm sure every author here will tell you, writing is mostly a matter of practice and experience, so keep at it.

WrexSoul: I'm sure I've said it before, but I'm not going to confirm or deny any of my plans for this story. I think everyone will be surprised with some of the things I have in mind though. How about I agree to post if you agree to post too? Good deal?

Tijuana Pirate: Encouragement makes me post more. I might just have to go on strike if you didn't keep poking me. Although I still believe poking may be hazardous to my health. There'll probably be more of Reno using those Turk instincts of his too, in later chapters. I have plans. Mwahahaha.

Phoenix: Not getting a little full of yourself there are you? I appreciate the review anyway however.

Anyway, is it just me, or are my author's notes getting longer with every chapter? But this was a longer chapter than the others, except the first, so I can have long author's notes too.

Update - Spelling errors. Must kill. Must destroy. Must annihilate. 

* * *


	6. Civilisation At Last

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Six - Civilisation At Last**

* * *

There were butterflies out here too, white and yellow ones that fluttered randomly around the small yellow flowers that specked the green of the long, rather coarse grass; this wasn't the verdant pasture of flat grasslands elsewhere on the continent, but not the barren gorse of mountains either. These were the foothills preceding the mountain range, and so the landscape was a little windswept, rough and yet brimming with its own life. Butterflies, especially.

It had turned into a nice day too, with the sun beaming down at him like a big golden face in the sky. Or something. Really, all this nature and such was beginning to get on his nerves. He was a city guy at heart, and while he appreciated pretty scenery as much as the next man, sometimes, he felt he belonged on the streets rather than walking casually along a dusty cart track at the base of a mountain range, trudging towards who knew what. 'Being one with nature' was all very well, but there was only so much walking and pretty scenery a guy could take.

Life may in fact have been better before Shinra, although that was a matter he'd have to consider a little longer, but traveling certainly wasn't. It was long, monotonous and boring, not to mention tiring. Reno hadn't actually had to walk this far in a very long time, and it was proving a little bit of a strain on his muscles; his light frame didn't exactly make him particularly muscular, and so a short sprint was more his style, rather than a long, drawn-out hike like this. He was beginning to wish that his collection of materia included a Chocobo Lure. Chocobos had to exist here after all.

As he continued along the road, walking in one of the shallow trenches caused by the passing of many wheels, he whistled idly, and somewhat tunelessly, simply to have a sound to keep him company. After a little while however, he stopped, catching the slightest of sounds penetrating the whistling. It was a rumbling, creaking noise, punctuated with the jingle of metal and the thud of heavy objects against the hard soil of the road.

Reno stopped walking, and jumped up onto the raised band of grass between the two tracks, looking around for the source of the sound, which he quickly determined was approaching him from behind. As he turned to face it, it pulled up over the crest of the gently rolling hill, revealing itself to be a heavy wooden cart, reinforced with metal braces, and pulled by an impressive looking team of four chocobos; the cargo in the back of the cart seemed heavy enough to warrant four of the birds, massive bales of hay stacked much higher than the wooden sides of the cart itself.

At the front, holding the reins of the four chocobos was a man that instantly reminded Reno of Choco Billy; scruffy blue overalls and a large straw hat shielding the face of the man from the bright sunshine. He seemed to be chewing thoughtfully on a piece of straw, and evidently half asleep; this road had been quiet thus far for Reno, and so it seemed perhaps that it was a peaceful journey from wherever it came from to wherever it went.

"Hey," the young red-head greeted casually, moving out of the road as the chocobos approached; he didn't particularly feel like being squashed by a cart. The squashed look really didn't suit him after all, and if he was going to die he intended to do so with style. Being splatted like roadkill was not, therefore, even close to the top of the metaphorical list of ways to die.

The man seemed to wake up at the sound of Reno's voice, looking up in surprise and gazing around for the source of the greeting. He quickly noticed the Turk, and pulled the cart to a halt, flicking the brim of his straw hat up a little so that it no longer obscured his eyes. He scrutinised Reno, eyeing him suspiciously, and yet appraisingly, as if to determine his worth, if he had any. "What d'ye want youngun'?"

"A ride would be nice," Reno replied instantly, and then paused to rethink his wording a little. "That is, if you have room. I've been walking for hours. If not, can you tell me how far to the nearest town?" The man seemed not exactly old, but gruff and wizened, as if he'd been out in the sun too long and had shriveled up like a raisin. His eyes though were alert and intelligent, sparkling with the twinkle of a quick wit and ready mind. Not the average inbred farmer type.

"Nearest town's Darton, three hours as the chocobo walks. Not a trip ye'll be wantin' to make on foot, 'specially if ye've been walkin' a while a'ready. So hop on, I don't mind none," the man said, leaning over to offer a hand up onto the cart. When Reno accepted, he pulled the lighter man up into the seat next to him, and urged the chocobos forwards once again.

For Reno's part, he was feeling fairly pleased with himself, although he imagined the farmer would've offered him a ride anyway. That was the nature of farmers driving carts through lonely countryside after all. Offering rides to scrawny, black clad young men bearing weapons. On reflection, Reno considered that he probably had a certain highwayman appearance, and it was possible that his benefactor was simply behaving in an amicable manner for the moment, until he could turn his passenger over to the local law enforcement.

Of course, the Turk wasn't about to fall for that trick again, and remained wary, although it seemed from the start that the man's intentions were genuine. He introduced himself immediately in a friendly, if somewhat gruff voice, as if socialising wasn't something he indulged in often. He was called, locally at least, Farmer Joe, although his name was Joesaph Baiton by birth.

"Reno Fletcher," was the response to this; no harm in being friendly when Farmer Joe didn't seem to be hostile, or planning anything unpleasant.

"Unusual name that," Joe responded, glancing sideways at his passenger, before asking, "Where ye from youngun'?"

Reno hesitated for a moment, uncertain of whether he should answer this particular question, but then he'd been alone long enough to strongly wish to talk for a while, and there was probably no harm in telling the man. He wondered for a few moments if he was being a little too trusting, but then reflected that since this was most likely years before his birth, and possibly even his parents' birth, there was no way any of his personal details could be used against him. At worst, people would assume he was trying to cover his true identity. "I grew up in Midgar, but my mum always said I was born in Mideel. Never been to Mideel since though."

"Midgar'll be that city up north, won't it now?" Joe asked. "Never heard o' Mideel though."

"It's a long way away. I'm hoping I can get to Midgar sometime soon though," Reno replied, feeling somewhat grateful when Joe didn't question this. He seemed happy enough with getting a name from his passenger, although in the following four hours of the journey, there was a few snatches of idle conversation between the two, from which Reno gained as much information as he could about Darton, which seemed to be the social and economic centre of this half of the continent.

He also learned that the four chocobos, caught with great difficulty by nets, cage traps and drugged greens, were named Sunshine, Buttercup, Daffodil, and Banana. Well, they were yellow birds, but the name Banana had caused a skeptical look from Reno. Joe had explained that he'd once seen a banana in Darton's marketplace, although he half believed it was a fake.

* * *

Darton was, as Reno had suspected, a fairly small town, similar in size to Kalm, although other than that, bore little in common with the other town, one that had outlived Darton itself, and survived in the world of the future. It just proved that outward appearances weren't everything, since this seemingly insignificant place was lively town, home to a bustling marketplace that attracted farmers and traders from other towns in the area. As soon as the cart rolled into the town, the sights, sounds and smells bombarded the Turk's senses, and with a smile and nod of thanks to Joe, he jumped down from the cart and went his own way. Exploration, not to mention food, beckoned.

The central square of the town had been liberally filled with rows of stalls, while the shops surrounding the square were also turning a quick profit from the looks of it. The empty spaces between the stalls were packed with people, pushing and shouting in order to get the best buys from the stalls. And the traders themselves were shouting, offering prices to beat their competitors. 

There were stalls of fruit and vegetables, one or two with fish, evidently from Junon, and others still with various pastries and bread, both of which called to Reno with their scent. In addition, there were weapons stalls, and one selling armour; neither had anything that could match the Turk's equipment, naturally. There were none selling materia, of course, but a few pandered items that the owners claimed to be magical. They didn't look to be particularly magical to Reno.

Feeling tempted by the smell of fresh bread, or perhaps a warm pie with some description of fruit inside, he checked the contents of his wallet. Probably enough Gil there to buy something, since although he had only a handful of coins, the rules of inflation should mean that Gil went a lot further in the past. That's what old people always said after all, wasn't it? 'Back when I was young ten Gil would feed a family for a week.' As opposed to barely paying for one meal. It looked like Reno would be eating well enough for at least a week or two then, if that really was true.

He approached the stall in question, quickly taking note of the price for a fresh, still warm bread roll, and offered the appropriate coinage. The man behind the stall frowned, studying the coin for a moment or two, before shaking his head and handing it back to Reno. "I don't know where you got that, but that's not Gil."

Reno turned the coin over in his hand, realising at once that a coin with President Shinra's profile on one side was unlikely to be considered legal tender in this world. "Sorry. Guess I didn't check my change too thoroughly," he said, idly toying with manipulating the man into letting him have the bread roll anyway. But the desire for a little excitement got the better of him, and he slinked away into the crowd.

Although he didn't need it, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the materia lodged in there; this one was of a pleasant shade of banana yellow, one of his few command based materia. It would give him an edge in the acquisition of local currency though, and he felt he needed every advantage he could get. The use of available resources had been covered extensively in his training, and it was a principle he liked to live by. When there was a resource that would aid in the completion of any mission, not using it would be a waste of an opportunity. Reno needed to steal some money, and so his steal materia was an appropriate and available means by which to ensure success.

With the yellow orb held in his right hand, since he knew himself to be much more lightly fingered with his left, he quietly murmured the words to activate the steal materia, and then moved through the crowd, mingling and 'accidentally' bumping into people so as to lighten the weight of Gil in their pockets. Quick glances at the coins before they joined his materia in his pocket revealed that they were larger and courser than those he was used to, and the face imprinted on one side wasn't that of President Shinra, but of someone Reno didn't recognise at all; a local dignitary perhaps, since the other side of the coin had a coat of arms, and the word 'Darton'. 

Each town and village, or area at the very least, had its own unique coins it would seem, although presumably all had some kind of identification so they could be used in other towns. Some of the other coins in his pocket bore names of other locations; one or two even had the name Junon, the coat of arms being a pair of eels intertwining each other.

He hadn't picked up many Gil; numerous small coins, which he guessed came to the value of perhaps five Gil in total. Even so, that would be enough to keep him happy and fed, at least until he made it to Midgar. While he'd never been one for forethought and planning, Reno was the master when it came to short term preparations and on the moment survival and basic instinct. He needed Gil now, so he got Gil now. Nothing more to it than that.

The young man idly helped himself to a handful more coins from a passer-by's pockets, before strolling away through the dense crowds, now heading back towards the bread stall once again. Lunch beckoned to him, and it struck him as almost amusing that in his own time, he'd been barely able to afford one or two meals a day, while here it seemed he would be able to achieve three with little difficulty. It was almost ironic.

A sharp cry went up from a little way behind him, two words that Reno recognised instantly. "Stop! Thief!" Oh, shit. That was not part of the plan. Casting a glance backwards, he could see the person he'd just stolen from bouncing up and down, waving one hand in the air to attract attention, while pointing with the other. Pointing straight at Reno. Had he said 'shit' yet? Yes? Well this warranted a double shit anyway. Shit.

He broke into a run, difficult though that was in the dense crowd around him. But shoving roughly into those that got in his way only caused more chaos. Chaos that he could use, since he was moving fast enough that by the time whoever he'd pushed had realised what had happened, he was long gone, and the pursuit he suspected would soon be chasing him would find their passage through the crowd more complicated. Angry people were generally not inclined to let others pass them.

Despite the benefit the crowd had for him, he would rather have been in a clear, straight run. Long distance running wasn't his thing really, since the enhancements Mako infusion had given him had, for some reason, been mostly limited to speed and agility, and also intelligence. Perhaps Mako enhanced different things in different people, according to their natural strengths. Speed, agility and intelligence had always been Reno's strong points, with much less ability in the area of physical strength, stamina and skills with magic. But with that said, he was still Mako enhanced, and so his stamina would exceed that of the average man without too much effort.

And so he broke free of the dense crowd into a quiet back alley, running down its length and following his instincts for which direction to take. This alley could suddenly terminate with a dead end, but he didn't think so. It wasn't that kind of alley. It wasn't the type that had muggers lurking behind crates in preparation to jump out on unsuspecting travelers, which Reno noted was an excellent excuse for a mugger to hide here; the element of surprise was powerful when used correctly. No, this alley was simply an empty space between buildings, into which back entrances opened to allow deliveries. It was more than wide enough to allow a cart similar in size to Farmer Joe's to pass through.

Which meant, therefore, that it wouldn't be a dead end, because a chocobo drawn cart would have a hell of a lot of trouble turning around or reversing through an alley like this. Of course, if he'd been seen coming down here, then it was possible, if the local law enforcement were intelligent enough, that there'd be someone waiting for him at the other end. If they were really intelligent, there'd be twenty or so someones, or no one at all. One singular person, on their own and in the absence of friends to back them up, did not want to mess with Reno of the Turks.

He could hear the sounds of running footsteps behind him, a fair distance back, and not gaining, although not losing distance either. Reno didn't have enough faith in his stamina to put on an extra turn of speed, not until he knew for certain that he would evade capture. Wasting energy when there was no guarantee of success would only leave him regretting it later, probably from the interior of a cell.

And he knew better than to risk looking back at the pursuit, because the laws of the universe meant that as soon as he did so, he'd trip over a crate, or the butterflies would attack, or something, and he'd get caught. That was how chases always worked, and he was not about to fall into the same trap as hundreds upon thousands of people did in practically every movie in history. Instead, he relied on his hearing to tell him how many were following him.

Five, he decided after a moment. All male, tall and more heavily built than himself; the police here were chosen for simple durability and weight, rather than detective skill. But then, how much brains were needed for a job that mostly involved wandering the countryside and dealing with problems like Reno, the apparently escaped criminal? Although escaped implied there was an actual prison here somewhere, which seemed unlikely in the face of it. A society like this couldn't afford to feed people locked away in cells, not achieving anything. If he got caught, he'd make a point of asking about that.

Not that he intended to get caught however. As he reached the end of the alley, he had to resist the urge to slow down and check for more police hidden around the corners, waiting to ambush him. He didn't have time to stop, considering the pursuit behind him. It was time to trust to blind luck.

Reno didn't even slow as he reached the end of the alley, simply erupting into the much wider street beyond and continuing to run, letting instincts guide him, since he didn't have time to think about where he was going. He had a vague feeling his course was leading him to the east, which was good enough; if he left the town by that direction, he could simply continue on to the Mythril Mines.

His flight was quickly halted however when something sharp hit his thigh, impaling the muscle and causing him to stagger as pain flared. What seemed to be coarse netting twined around his legs, effectively tripping him over and rendering him immobile. His momentum continued for a moment or two, sending him down onto the ground with enough force to jar his entire body. He rolled over, still carried by the force of momentum, before finally coming to a halt, laying helplessly on the ground. He struggled against the fronds of tough, netted twine that entangled him, not only his legs now but his arms as well. Magical, or simply bad luck on his part to have rolled in the perfect manner to tie himself in liberal knots? He was inclined towards the bad luck idea. 

But this was strange; he hadn't even heard a shot fired, and the only weapon that could fire an injuring shot and release netting at the same time sounded similar to a gun when fired. Why did the whole world have to be so fucking weird? Irritated, Reno wriggled to free himself from the netting, and swore profusely at the approaching police officers.

"Looks like we caught a live one. Calm down kid, before you hurt yourself," one of the men said, smiling and laughing.

"Hurt myself? You're the one that fucking shot me!" Reno objected, although the pain in his leg was enough to stop him kicking at the net, at least for the moment.

"No, wasn't me. You want to thank Bob for that," was the response from the officer.

"Bob? I got shot by a man called _Bob_?" the Turk asked, his voice incredulous and also somewhat offended.

"There something wrong with the name Bob?" a deep, rumbling voice asked him, evidently 'Bob'. Looking at him, Reno realised the man was the same shape and size as a mountain. Quite scary, in fact. He would have made Rude look like a dwarf. Very scary.

"Not at all. It's just the principle of the thing. I object to being shot at in general," Reno said. He wasn't a coward, but he wasn't suicidal either. There were some people you simply didn't try to annoy any more than you had to.

"Well, don't you worry about that. We'll make sure you're all patched up before we send you away," 'Bob' said, before laughing lightly. It sounded like an avalanche. The snowy kind of avalanche, not the terrorist 'let's blow up a Mako Reactor' avalanche.

"Send me away where?" he asked, really not liking the sound of that. "Don't suppose you feel like sending me to Midgar, do you?"

"No, we have a better use for little thieves like you. We put them to work," the first officer said, also sounding somewhat amused, which was likely due to the general cluelessness on behalf of Reno. Shit, that was worrying; he was becoming like Strife. Maybe he'd better hope whatever Bob had shot him with would kill him...

Two other men moved forward and pulled Reno up onto his feet, confiscating his gun and mag-rod, and searching through his pockets. They removed the Gil he'd stolen, and also inspected the contents of his wallet, taking them for 'evidence'. They also took his materia, and asked him what they were. "A gift from my late wife..." was Reno's response, before asking if he'd be allowed to keep them, because they were of sentimental value. They'd simply laughed and said no. Fuck.

The netting was cut away from his legs and arms, but not before his hands were bound behind his back with metal cuffs. The sharp angles of the metal rubbed painfully against the still tender burns on his wrists, and although he winced in response to this pain, complaining to his captors didn't seem like a good idea. Not when their treatment of him so far indicated they had no intentions of being gentle anyway, although the officer who'd first spoken, who was the one who seemed to be in charge, at least of this little squad, had ordered one of his men to help Reno walk, since it seemed he wasn't able to do so on his own with an injured leg.

He could, of course, but he didn't feel like it. They'd shot him with something which he now identified as a long, tapered spike, as might have been fired by a crossbow. And since they'd shot him, and hadn't even as yet removed the bolt from his leg, he was going to pretend that he couldn't walk on his own. 'Til the end, Reno always liked to be irritating if he could.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno and Final Fantasy VII belong to Square. However, Farmer Joe, Bob and all original locations belong to me. Again, I have to wonder how lucky I am. At least the plot's mine...

Author's Notes - And you're probably wondering just what is going on with the plot. I know this chapter is somewhat lacking. I'm not pleased with most of it, since I had a lot of trouble writing this. Sometimes chapters just don't want to be written, but I had to get this done, because it's part of my plot. You're probably wondering if I actually have a plot beyond letting Reno wander aimlessly around the world. I do, I promise. You will, however, notice the minor cliffhanger at the end there. This time it's for dramatic effect, not because I haven't decided what I'm doing next.

WrexSoul: Reno's always a pile of fun to write, especially when he's being reflective, or just plain weird, hence why I feel so pleased with the last chapter; I suspect it's one of the better ones, if not the best so far. Course, I should be ashamed of myself for poking you to write, while taking so long getting this chapter out myself.

Tijuana Pirate: Spoil you? Moi? Not intentionally, although I suppose updating a lot does that. I would complain that nobody spoils me like that, but then if there were more stories out there for me to read, I'd spend less time writing. 

Ealinesse: Glad you have liked the story so far, and I did hope I was being original. It only gets weirder from here though. I have many plans. Mwahahaha! 

And look at this! Short author's notes for once. Inspiration really hasn't been my thing today. I blame work you know. Like, they actually made me work this week. How mean is that? Anyway, if I can coax my writing talent back to life, I'll get to work on Chapter Seven. I'm anticipating getting to Midgar in the next chapter, and thus starting the next section of my plot.

* * *


	7. Missions

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Seven - Missions **

* * *

The cell was small, and of dimensions that made it almost a perfect cube. Seven feet high, seven feet wide and seven feet deep. There was a shelf suspended from the back wall, about two feet off the cold concrete floor, and covered with a moth-eaten old thing that he could only assume was a blanket. It smelled strongly of damp, mildew, and - naturally - urine and vomit. The perfect police cell, but evidently designed to contain only one person at a time. There was another such cell next to this one, containing a large hulk of a man who watched the scene with tiny, squinting eyes. The area in front of the two made up the open-plan police station itself. It put Reno in mind of the sheriff's headquarters in old Western movies.

The two police men holding him escorted him into the cell, and forced him down onto the bed, holding him there. He was a little confused at this rough treatment, since escape was unlikely. He was handcuffed, and they'd taken his weapons, his materia and his wallet. His wallet which unfortunately had contained his various forms of ID, including the driver's license that nobody believed he actually had. So now the police here knew his name, and had reason to believe he was involved in fraud, due to the obviously 'fake' Gil and strange plastic cards.

After a moment or two, Bob entered the cell holding another crossbow bolt, which he pushed between Reno's jaws so he was forced to bite down on the length of wood. Reno realised this was the medical treatment he'd been promised. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. A man with the gentle touch of a landslide was going to be the one pulling the bolt out of his leg. 

At least he'd been nice enough to give him something to bite on, even if he hadn't been inclined to give him a warning before actually doing it. Bob held Reno's leg with one hand, easily pulling the bolt out with the other, which elicited a surprised cry of pain from the Turk. In retaliation for the sudden pain, Reno kicked out at Bob with the uninjured leg the mountainous man hadn't pinned down.

If they'd just warned him, allowed him to prepare himself for the removal of the bolt, he'd have quietly let them do it. But no, they were the ones who had to treat him roughly and cause him unnecessary pain. They were the ones that had so little faith in his ability to take pain. He was a Turk, and he'd suffered worse injuries than this. They weren't to know that, but that hardly changed Reno's opinions of them.

Bob grunted at the force of the kick, dealing the red-head a rough backhand in retribution. "Hold still while I bandage this, kid, else you'll bleed to death," he said firmly. Before Reno had a chance to react, the huge man had torn off the Turk's black jeans in order to gain access to the bleeding wound.

"Hey!" Reno objected - both to the rough treatment and the forceful removal of his trousers. He was wearing boxers underneath, but that wasn't the point. Again, Bob could have just _asked_. Reno wasn't an idiot, and he knew the value of getting injuries tended to before they became any more serious than they had to be. Well, at least now Bob would see that he was used to being hurt; his legs, like any other part of his body, were scarred enough to prove he was no stranger to pain.

"Just hold still, kid," Bob told him, quickly stemming the flow of blood from the wound and then bandaging it. The speed and skill with which he did so suggested to Reno that the shooting of criminals was a fairly common occurrence here. It also boded well for the near future, since they were unlikely to be looking after him now if they intended only to kill him later. Not that they'd have any luck with that, since even without weapons Reno was a capable enough fighter. He preferred to use a weapon when he could, but as a Turk he'd been trained in a wide variety of different combat styles.

Not that he'd call this being looked after, for that matter. He could feel significantly more bruises than he'd started with, and although the pain was tolerable, it still wasn't pleasant. No pain ever was, unless you really were a very sick, twisted and perverted individual. Reno wasn't such a man however, and he enjoyed his injuries no more than anyone else would. He merely carried the pain better.

When Bob was finished with the bandaging, he drew back from Reno, and the two other men holding him down did the same. "I suggest that you rest, and regain your strength. All the injury to heal," was the command offered by the human mountain, before retreating from the cell and pushing the heavy metal barred door closed with a solid clang.

Reno shifted position on the solid shelf that was evidently intended to be a bed, trying to find some way of being comfortable. It seemed highly unlikely in the face of it, so he pulled off his jacket and balled it up to create a pillow, then rolled onto his side. He lay with the jacket beneath his head, looking across the cell and out to the open plan office in front. 

How, exactly, was he supposed to get any rest in a cold cell with a hard shelf for a bed, a jacket for a pillow, wearing only a t-shirt and boxer shorts, and with absolutely no privacy at all? Exactly the same way he always rested, of course. He was nothing if not adaptable, and on occasions slept on his feet during long and boring body-guarding missions. He'd never been particularly motivated to make sure Palmer didn't get killed. 

With a soft grunt that trailed into a sigh, Reno shifted position again, stretching his injured leg painfully. He watched the activities beyond the confines of his cell, feeling a little too alert and self-conscious to go to sleep just yet. People were constantly coming and going from the office - officers returning from or heading out to distant towns and far off patrols, and locals dropping in to report minor crimes or visit the officers themselves. The police were held with high regard in Darton, it seemed.

"Hey, Bob?" he called out. "Can I have a proper blanket? It's kinda cold with people opening and closing the door all the time."

Bob was sitting at a desk nearby, hunched over it like an overhanging rock-face, and occupied with the cleaning of the most enormous crossbow Reno had ever seen. If that was the weapon he'd been shot with, he was amazed he still had a leg. He had to assume that more likely than not, Bob owned many such weapons, and that large one was used for taking down chocobos, or possibly dragons.

"You're a criminal, and a prisoner. You're not meant to be comfortable," came the response from Bob, who looked up from his task of cleaning the crossbow and gazed in Reno's direction.

"Yeah, but come on, you ripped up my jeans, and I'm cold, and I'm hurt," Reno pointed out, determined to get his way, one way or another. Here, he was playing the part of the kid that had taken more than he could handle by turning to crime and getting caught, and really wanted someone to be nice to him. He'd be anything he needed to be if it got him what he wanted.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt, since you're injured and all. We need you in good health," Bob said, getting to his feet and lumbering over to one of the storage lockers at one side of the office. They were probably intended to be used as storage for evidence, but some of them at least appeared to be overflowing with cleaning equipment. Against all probability, Bob withdrew a rolled up sleeping bag from one of these lockers.

As if he sensed Reno's eyes on him, Bob explained. "For the night-shifts, usually. You can use it." He brought the sleeping bag over to the cell and took his keys out of his pocket, fumbling with them for a moment before finding the correct one and opening the door. He entered the cell, simply tossing the sleeping bag across it so that it landed on Reno, and then retreated from the cell once more, locking it behind him.

Feeling pleased with himself for this measure of success, Reno rolled out the sleeping bag and wriggled into it, trying to do so without having to move his leg too much, or jarring the injury any more than necessary. Easier said than done, and by the time he was inside the sleeping bag, he was happy to pull it up around his neck and curl up inside. Despite this, he stayed awake, watching as Bob returned to cleaning his enormous crossbow.

"That's a really impressive weapon," Reno commented. He was curious, more than anything. Why would anyone need a weapon that huge and powerful?

"It is, isn't it? Custom made," Bob replied, turning in his chair and holding it up so the prisoner could get a better look.

"What do you need it for? Not for shooting at the likes of me, I assume?" the young red-head asked casually, giving the crossbow an appreciative look. He had enough experience with weaponry to recognise fine craftsmanship when he saw it, and the kind of destructive power something that size would have, even if it was only a crossbow... Reno had to admit to a certain liking of powerful weapons.

"Oh, no, we use much smaller weapons for criminals. No, there's a monster prowling the mines, killing off the workers, and we're the only ones with the resources to deal with it," the huge man responded, evidently seeing no harm in telling Reno this.

"What kind of monster? You wouldn't know it by the look of me, but I've got a lot of experience with monsters," Reno said, his curiousity running rampant at this point, more so than was perhaps sensible for this situation, but since when had he let every single action be guided by common sense? That would make life far too boring.

"You're right, I wouldn't believe it. I'm not sure what it is we're facing, other than the fact it's big," Bob told him. "I have to wonder where you got that monster experience from?"

"I worked for a rich guy in Midgar who liked trophies on his wall, but didn't like to do the work to get them himself, unless the work included paying me to go hunting for him. I've killed dragons, hippogryphs, griffins, manticores... you name it, I've killed it," Reno replied with an easy-going smirk. It was easy to boast when he was actually telling the truth, too; he'd traveled long distances during the course of his career, and monsters were common in his time. They practically went out of their way to find people to kill, or so it seemed at times.

"That's where you got all those scars from?" Bob asked, seeming to blindly accept the Turk's word for it.

"Most of them, yeah," he answered with a satisfied grin. "So how about, you let me out of the cell, and I help you with your monster problem?"

"Now, you know we can't be doing that. Although having said that, it is the mines you're headed to. Best thing to do with petty thieves is drop them into the mines for a few years," Bob pointed out, sounding completely logical, but nevertheless returning the grin.

"I'm not a petty thief. I'm hard working, loyal and as professional a guy as you could hope for. I'm just a long way from home, and stuck for cash. I was hungry." Reno had to admit that he didn't exactly look professional, huddled in a sleeping bag as he was, but then, with that said, he hadn't ever looked particularly professional as a Turk either. Looks could be most deceiving, that he knew well.

"A professional fraudster, from what we've seen," Bob said with a frown, evidently quite disapproving.

"I am not!" Reno objected, a little more strongly than he had intended. Admittedly, he wasn't entirely certain how else he could explain his credit cards, which didn't even exist in this time, or his ID card, which bore a birth date of sometime in the distant future. How distant, he wasn't sure. If he ever reached Midgar, he would find out.

"So, what are you then?" the mountainous officer asked, and now it was his turn to give a satisfied grin, as if he knew already that Reno wouldn't have another explanation.

"The cards are a system of transferring money around, back where I come from. When something costs too much to pay for it with coins. It's cutting edge technology, which is why you've never seen it here. As for my ID, well... the guy I'm working for doesn't like real information to leak out, so he had that made for me," Reno said.

"So it's a fake ID? Reno Fletcher's not your real name then?" Bob asked.

"Nope," Reno said with a grin, unable to resist letting this play out in this unexpected direction. Maybe he'd still get out of here without too much difficulty. No one could compete with a Turk's brain, especially not Reno. He was just far too smart for the likes of Bob, who might have a subtle intelligence that took a while to warm up, but before that happened, he seemed genuinely quite slow.

"What's your real name, then?" Bob asked, giving him a look that was partly quizzical, and partly skeptical, as if he wasn't yet certain of this.

"Well, if you must know. If it means that much to you. Mallory Turk," Reno replied, pulling a name at random from his mind; the surname was easy enough anyway. He was a Turk, so if he wasn't using his own name, he'd use that one. He was fairly certain he'd once killed a guy called Mallory. It was as good a name as any. And his tone of voice he knew would sound genuine enough. Lying came so naturally to him.

"Alright then, Mallory," Bob said, his own rumbling voice seeming to be trusting. The living mountain had actually believed him. Not that there was any doubt of that, but even so.

"So, how about a deal? I help you with your monster, since I bet, even if you have a kick-ass crossbow, you don't know how to deal with big monsters, and you let me go? I need to go through the mines anyway, since I've an errand or two to run in Midgar. So everyone wins. You get rid of the monster, and a pesky criminal that's far too scrawny to last long working in the mines, and I get to kill a monster and go on my way."

Bob seemed to hesitate, caught in indecision. It was obvious enough that the enormous man didn't particularly want to fight whatever this monster was, but again, he didn't want to release a prisoner either. "I don't have the authority to make that deal. I'll have to talk to Daverrison."

Daverrison was, Reno guessed, the superior officer in this place, presumably the man who'd been in command during his capture, considering the very local feel of the law enforcement here. The guy in charge actually got involved with the town, with the people, with the criminals. It gave it all a so much more personal edge to it, and likely made the locals trust him.

Reno nodded, and grinned at Bob. "Great. I hope he's willing. It'll save us all so much trouble, don't you think?" he asked, finding himself quite liking the huge man. Maybe it was just because he'd given in, but not without a little bit of a fight. That kind of thing amused the red-head; it kept things interesting. And Bob was basically a decent guy, he guessed.

"I think it will," Bob agreed, giving Reno a nod. "You get some sleep, Mallory. You're going to need it, if Daverrison agrees to this."

"Yeah. Gonna need to be in better shape than this to kill a monster. Hey, I do get my weapons and my coloured stones back, though? I fight better with my own weapons, and those stones are like good luck charms to me," the Turk explained. The materia would give him an extra edge, although he was perfectly capable of fighting a monster without the use of magic.

"I imagine so, yes. Since you'll be paying for your crime by helping us, there's no reason why you can't have your belongings back," Bob responded, and then offered the captive a smile. "You'll probably even get some clean clothes, since they say blood attracts monsters."

"Yeah, that's true. Depending on what monsters are around here. I haven't been in this area before." It was the truth, in a way, if time was considered as a place, which for the purposes of this conversation, was true enough. The future was like a far off country, and Reno was certain he'd heard a quote to that effect before, although he couldn't remember it now.

He could hardly say no to fresh clothing, however, considering the distance he'd traveled with the ones he was wearing. Muddy, dusty and sweaty, and that was just for starters. Of course Bob had destroyed his jeans too; and there was no way in hell Reno would be going to fight a monster wearing only his boxers.

There was no response to this from Bob, who'd returned to cleaning the crossbow. It was an encouragement for Reno to rest, perhaps, while the human mountain himself waited for the commanding officer to return. Taking the hint, the red-head shifted position on the hard metal shelf that served as a bed, and tried to will his mind and body to rest. He understood the wisdom of letting his injury heal as much as possible, since it seemed likely Bob would persuade Daverrison.

As he drifted towards sleep, idly listening to the sounds of the police station and the bustling town outside, Reno found himself reflecting, admittedly in a very half-asleep manner, on this world he'd found himself in. People were so gullible, so innocent and naive, as if they had absolutely nothing to fear from lies or deceit. They were so intrinsically trusting; the way Argus and Maggie had returned his materia to him and left him so unguarded, and the way Bob was so willing to make a deal with him.

What had happened to make these people so trusting, or was it purely human nature to trust each other? If that was the case, what had happened to people in the future? What had made them so suspicious and paranoid of each other, so that nothing was taken at simple face value?

Already Reno could half imagine the answer, a single word. He knew it, but felt a little uncomfortable with the realisation. Shinra was the answer, obviously; but in all seriousness, it can't have been entirely and wholly responsible for the change in people from this time to his own. Partly, yes; Reno could agree with that. He was perfectly aware of just how many times Shinra had lied to people, given them a reason to distrust. But it can't have done so much damage entirely on its own. Could it?

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno's not mine, Final Fantasy VII isn't mine. Bob is mine though, and I'm actually feeling kind of attached to him now. I may have to find a reason to work him into the story later one.

Author's Notes - Okay, so no Midgar this time. Next chapter, okay? I promise. If all goes well next chapter. This one was meant to have more, but this seemed like a good place to end it, as if I'd put in the next bit, it would've been far too long a chapter. Despite that, I like how this one turned out, on the whole. I suppose my rating on how much I like a chapter is based on how easy it was for me to write; the better chapters feel like they flow better to me, and I'm such a perfectionist...

With the plot thing, I suppose it's like I know where I'm going with it, and so I know I've been weaving about a little so far. I have many plans, and so to me it feels like I've barely even touched on the plot for this story. But even so, I can't develop it any faster than I have. I swear this story is alive and wants to do things its own way...

And this has to be the most Beta'd chapter yet, thanks to my buddy Addy, who seems to have better grammar skills than me. He successfully managed to find an error in practically every paragraph. You may notice a much less random use of commas in the above text, although I still refuse to change wordings that were deliberately informal. Or words that are used differently between the English and American languages...

Tijuana Pirate: Well, I hope this is interesting enough a solution to the problem. I wonder if I'm making things a little too easy for Reno, but then, people are so much more trusting in this time. But then, I'm being kinda evil to Reno too, so it all balances out in the long run, doesn't it? No butterfly references this time round though...

WrexSoul: You would not believe the trouble I had finding a surname for Reno that actually worked for me. I ended up trawling through client's names at work, until I came across Fletcher. It's kind of... simple, and recognisable, but not too common. There will be less average and normal names drifting around later on, away from the unoriginal little villages and towns.

Anyway, onwards, outwards and twirling-twirling-twirling towards the next chapter. Or something. Really, I will get to Midgar next chapter...

* * *


	8. Mist, Magic And Mayhem

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Eight - Mist, Magic And Mayhem**

* * *

Mist drifted eerily across his vision, silver light glistening as the swirls moved in a slow, almost hypnotic manner. The source of the light illuminating the dancing clouds of mist was impossible to determine, since it seemed to come from all directions, and yet none at all, for he could easily sense that beyond the mist was only darkness. Here and there patches of a bluish purple were visible, perhaps something hidden within the mist, or perhaps the mist itself, or even the inevitable darkness that lay beyond the silvered shrouds.

And yet, despite this, as he looked down at his feet, the solid surface on which he stood was easy enough to see. A flat surface of roughly lain concrete, stained deep brown from the unimaginable grime that could occur only in a city, a large one such as Midgar or Junon. Only a place populated by vast numbers of people, and dominated by a Mako Reactor or eight could produce enough dirt and pollution to thus stain hard stone. But in comparison, and against all odds it would seem, the mist gave his surroundings an almost clean feel.

No, that wasn't quite the right word, he reflected as the mist cleared in a few isolated patches, revealing empty streets and the hauntingly dead buildings. Pure, or perhaps innocent, were far more appropriate words. As if the silvery grey clouds that swirled around him were somehow cleansing, renewing the subtle impurity of the city. Even as it did so, the most primal of his instincts suggested, almost hesitantly, that although it cleansed, the mist was also in some way the source of the natural evil of his surroundings.

In the corner of his eye, he detected a shape, moving towards him in a manner that could only be described as chaotic, dancing from side to side, and in the face of the eerily silent world around him, its course seemed almost silly. Turning to look at the shape, he recognised it instantly; how could he not? Although it was large, and coloured in silver and purple, there was no mistaking the familiar shape of a butterfly fluttering haphazardly towards him. He watched it as it came closer still, and hovered for a moment in front of him, barely a few inches beyond the tip of his nose, before beginning to fly away, heading into the depths of the shining silver mist.

"Hey! Wait!" he called after it, and took a step forward to follow the butterfly, knowing that it intended to lead him to something important. But he couldn't help but shy away from the mist as a few tendrils extended in his direction. The mist was evil, he knew, and he was reluctant to allow it to touch him. But the butterfly seemed to call to him, drawing him forward.

With a pang, he wished Tseng was around to guide him, to tell him he was being stupid, because he suspected he probably was. His former superior would tell him he was letting his beliefs pull him into unnecessary danger, following the butterfly into the mist despite what his instincts told him. Or he would point out that the mist was not entirely evil, but a balance of both, for it was pure and evidently shining with its own light, while at the same time remaining undeniably evil. And if the mist was not evil, and was unlikely to harm him, he should follow the butterfly's lead, and not let an irrational fear stand in his way.

The dark Wutaian's wisdom was definitely a double-edged sword, he realised with a little irritation. Too much wisdom, so that any amount of it could be applied in any given situation. Not really a lot of help at the present moment, and neither was the other option, the old fallback of his training. In a world of strange mists and even stranger butterflies, Turk training was about as useful as Tseng's wisdom; don't rush into a situation without first knowing what he was up against; don't allow personal feelings and philosophies to interfere with the mission immediate survival; don't submit to fear, even the fear of the unknown; never follow your instincts alone, because they are usually incorrect, or at least blinded by ignorance.

Equal arguments for both staying and going, and so it came down finally to one thing, and one thing alone: what the hell, take a risk! What was the worst that could happen, in the grand scheme of things? He'd be devoured, or whatever it was that evil, malevolent, ominous mists did, but that would happen regardless, sooner or later. The butterfly was calling to him, leading him onwards, and so he followed.

He plunged into the mist, and fought against the urge to recoil as the strangely cold tendrils touched him, ignoring the clothes covering his body, and even his skin. It was the kind of cold that went straight to his heart, and with dull realisation, he understood that the mist knew him. 

It knew the most evil depths of his soul, the parts of him that had made him such a fantastic Turk. That dark part of him that reveled in violence and destruction, that had given him the strength to take down the Sector Seven Pillar, to fight and kill without remorse, and to leap into battle against opponents he knew to be too powerful for him.

But there were the heights of his soul as well, and the mist touched upon those as well. The light-hearted, playful young man that would fight and kill to protect those things that meant most to him, that would follow those he respected into hell and every step of the way back, that still retained a touch of whimsical innocence despite the things he'd seen.

The mist knew, and it swirled around him, through him perhaps, and he struggled to keep moving onwards. It would engulf him entirely if it could, this silver embodiment of both good and evil, or life and death. Moving became increasingly difficult, and yet he still pushed onwards, forcing his way through the mist towards the silver and purple butterfly dancing at the edge of vision. It seemed unaffected by the mist, or was perhaps part of it.

Just as he'd begun to feel that the mist would prove too powerful for him to continue to struggle against, it released him into the clear air beyond. The butterfly fluttered onwards, evidently oblivious to his presence, or to the sleek, dark form of the shadow that moved towards it.

He couldn't quite make out the shape of the shadow; it was long and sinuous, almost serpentine, and yet its form seemed to be constantly shifting and changing, so that it was quite impossible to detect what it truly looked like. But then, this seemed to be what the shadow was trying to convey to him, constant changing and flowing as it began to pursue the butterfly. And so began a chase, the butterfly circling around, staying just out of reach of the shadow's jaws, and he couldn't help but feel that the butterfly was taunting the thing pursuing it. The shadow slid forwards once more, its movements smooth and effortless as its powerful jaws opened and snapped at the butterfly.

The silver butterfly danced away, fluttering higher and out of the shadow's reach, but the sleek jaws of the dark beast closed about something else. For that single moment, just as its jaws snapped down onto the tip of its tail, the shadow appeared as a long serpent, glistening in the light that filtered eerily down to its sleek form. There was a long howl of pain, more of a blood curdling shriek that filled the entire world, ringing painfully in his ears...

* * *

Reno woke with a start, jumping immediately to the defensive and reaching instinctively for the mag-rod, or a gun, or perhaps even his alarm clock. Miscalculating where the edge of his bed should be, he found himself for a moment suspended in the air, before hitting the floor with a thump and a soft exhalation of breath. Now lying flat on his back on the cold concrete floor, he took the time to take stock of his situation. He was not in his bedroom, waking to the persistent sound of his alarm clock. He was not under attack, although it certainly felt as if he was. The ringing in his ears remained though, and it took a few more seconds to come to the conclusion that his first guess of an alarm had been the most accurate.

Well, this was a pleasant way for them to wake him up. What had happened to simply rattling the bars of the cell to get his attention, as was common in the police stations of his time? He knew he hadn't been sleeping that deeply; he never did, thanks to years of training that allowed him to be ready for anything, including attacks during the night. They probably could have just called his name, and that would have been enough.

But no, they had to set off the alarms to the whole place in an apparent attempt to deafen him. This was exceptionally cruel treatment, even by the standards Reno had come to accept, and expect from the handling of prisoners. He rolled over onto his side, and put one hand beneath to push himself up into a casual sitting position. "Alright! I'm awake!" he shouted over the constant ringing of the alarm.

"Hey! Come on! What you trying to do? Deafen me?" Reno shouted again when there was no immediate response in the way of turning off loud and ear piercing alarms. He waited for another moment, before deciding that while patience could be considered a virtue, the ability to act quickly was a greater one when the continued ability to hear was at stake. "If you don't turn that off right now, I'll do it myself!" he called warningly.

Still nothing. Fine, if they wanted to be like that, then Reno would just have to educate them into the reasons why nobody pissed off a Turk. "Neo-Turk Light!" he yelled into the din, mentally targeting the magic into the office beyond the cell. Materia or no, Reno was still capable of using his own personal abilities. The electricity exploded through the open plan office, easily destroying the desks and the paperwork they carried, and causing the doors of the lockers to burst open. And the spell hit something else too, illuminating the form that crept through the office, and soon striking it with enough force to send it flying back against the wall, unconscious.

The electricity dissipated, and Reno noted with some satisfaction that the alarm had also been terminated by the magic. Score for the Turk! He grinned, and climbed back onto the bed, shuffling around until he found a mostly comfortable position, and then closed his eyes in an attempt to return to sleep. If they wanted him to get up, they'd have to do so in a more civilised manner than blasting his senses with an alarm. Well, and they'd have to regain consciousness too.

"Whoa... what happened in here?" an all too familiar voice asked, accompanied by the soft chime that signaled the opening of the front door.

"You pissed me off," Reno responded, opening his eyes and looking across the destruction to the form of Bob at the door of the office. Next to the huge mountain of man was a smaller individual, who even in the dark Reno could recognise as the leader of the squad that had captured him.

"What, exactly, did we do?" this man asked, stepping forward to survey the carnage more closely.

"I object to being woken with alarms. Simply calling my name would have sufficed," the red-head responded, moving to sit on the edge of the hard shelf-like bed, idly watching as the man picked his way across the room and occasionally nudged the remains of furniture with his foot.

"That wasn't us. Those were the motion detection alarms. Ah, and here we have our escapee," the man remarked as he came to the unconscious form of the figure that had been on the receiving end of Reno's magic. "Badly burned, by the looks of it, but not life-threatening. And you say you did this, Fletcher? Or should I call you Turk?"

"Either is fine. And yes, I did that. I don't appreciate being deprived of my much-needed sleep," Reno replied testily, not liking the man's tone of voice, not in the least.

"It wasn't intentional. The alarms are triggered by movement outside of the cells during the night. It seems our other prisoner had plans on escaping, which you seem to have foiled. Impressive, although I have to wonder..." the man trailed off, and turned his gaze over to Bob. "Go and find Dr. Thomas; this man will be needing medical attention. I think I need to have words with our other captive."

Bob nodded, and responded with an affirmative 'yes, sir', before leaving the building through the doorway he'd been standing in. Once they were alone, Bob's superior moved across the office, occasionally having to climb over the ruined remains of the furniture, before coming to stand at the bars of Reno's cell. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Daverrison Black, commander of all police forces in this area. I believe you had a deal you wished to make?"

"Yeah. Like I said to Bob, I'll deal with your monster problem, if you let me go," Reno replied simply; there wasn't any need to complicate this any further.

"You... you think you can deal with a dragon?" Daverrison asked simply, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the cell.

"Sure. No problem. What colour?" the Turk responded, his tone of voice casual and relaxed, as if killing dragons was an every day occurrence for him.

"What does the colour matter?" Daverrison asked with a frown. From the tone of his voice, it seemed he disapproved of the prisoner's casual attitude, especially towards dragons.

"Well, a red dragon is going to be immune to fire, for example, and a white dragon will be immune to ice. My lightning magic, which so effectively destroyed your office here, is going to be useless against a blue dragon, and the claws of a green dragon are likely to be poisonous. And so on and so forth. I'd like to know what it is that I'm up against before I go charging in and get myself killed." Reno said this in a manner that conveyed only a smug intelligence, knowing full well that his knowledge exceeded that of Daverrison.

"It's a black dragon, from what I've heard," the other man said. "I hope you know how to deal with that."

Reno paled slightly, now that he knew what he'd let himself in for. A black dragon, or a dark dragon as he knew it, was vulnerable to only one type of magic, and that was the one type the red-head had never carried with him. Holy magic, the power of healing, had always been Rude's department. And in fighting dragons, it was the magic that gave the edge needed to defeat it.

"I gather you don't know how to deal with a black dragon, then?" Daverrison asked, his tone of voice almost suggesting that Reno was trying to back out of this deal, now that it actually came to the crunch of it.

"I know how to kill a black dragon. They're called dark dragons where I come from," Reno answered, beginning to look somewhat worried now. He was going to have to rely entirely on physical attacks, the mag-rod and his gun. Normally, against any other opponent, he wouldn't have worried too much, since the power of his weapons was more than enough to deal with anything he might encounter. Except dragons, that had tough hide and scales, able to turn aside all but the most powerful of blows; magic was by far more effective.

"So what's the problem? That lightning thing you did was pretty impressive. I've never seen anyone else able to do anything like it. To tell the truth, I didn't really believe in magic, despite those things the traders sell in the market," Daverrison told him.

"Those things aren't magic, what they sell. The problem with dark dragons is they're mostly immune to many types of magic, with the exception of holy magic... that is healing magic. The lightning and fire and such will work, but not as well," Reno said, being careful at the words he chose, simply because he couldn't let the people here know about the power of materia. Instead, they would have to think that it was a power of Reno's own. Neo-Turk Light and Pyramid were, at least. 

He flashed a grin at Daverrison. "I'm pretty good with magic all around, but I've never been able to do any healing magic at all. Always had my buddy Rude for that. Man, I wish he was here right now."

"Can you still manage the dragon?" the man asked, obviously oblivious to the momentary sadness in the red-head's voice as he spoke of his friend.

"Yeah, I got a few tricks up my sleeve yet. But first I need my weapons back, and some fresh clothes. Oh, and my coloured stones. They're my good luck charms. I never go anywhere without them," Reno said, grinning as he pulled himself to his feet and walked to the door of the cell. There was no question now that he wouldn't be released.

Daverrison took the keys from the metal ring hanging from his belt, fumbling for a moment until he found the right one, and then unlocking the cell and pulling the door open, allowing Reno to exit. Then he went to the remains of his desk, searching through the wreckage until he came to the pile of belongings confiscated from Reno. These items he returned to the red-head, who looked a little at a loss about what to do with them for the moment.

"I'm gonna need some clothes before I get kitted up," Reno remarked, although despite this he strapped the mag-rod's holster around his hips, over the top of his boxers. He realised it must look an odd sight, because Daverrison snickered softly.

"You can borrow some of my clothes, although they're going to be a bit big for you," the man commented, moving now to the metal storage lockers. He prodded the open door, and glanced back at Reno, as if guessing the reason for this. And then, pulling the door open a little further, he retrieved a bag from within, tossing it to the now freed prisoner. "Help yourself. I always keep a few changes of clothes around here."

Reno rummaged through the bag, turfing clothes out and onto the floor until he found something close to what he was looking for. Considering Daverrison's greater height and mass, he felt it would be a good idea to keep as many of his own clothes as he could. His t-shirt and jacket could stay, definitely, and a belt would remedy any issues he'd have with the pair of jeans borrowed from Daverrison. 

He kicked off his boots and removed the mag-rod and its holster from his waist, before quickly pulling the jeans on. Finding a belt, he threaded the thick leather through the belt hoops, and tightened it to the point where there was no risk of the pants falling down around his ankles. That would be far more humiliating than continuing to wander around in his underwear.

Once again, he strapped the mag-rod's holster around his waist, tightening that too as added insurance to keep the loose clothing in place. His gun he tucked into its usual place in his belt; he'd never been one to be carrying two holsters, since that many straps ended up impeding his movement somewhat. For a Turk who'd relied very heavily on his natural agility, allowing such a thing could easily prove lethal to him.

The 'coloured stones' were mostly dropped into various pockets; some in the deep pockets of the jeans he was now wearing, and others in both the internal and external jacket pockets. He made careful note of which ones were in what pocket, so he could find them easily at a moment's notice. Knowing he was facing a dark dragon, he found himself wishing he carried some armour, so his Destruct materia could be placed in a defensive slot to allow him some defense against the dragon's death magic. He would just have to cope the best he could, since it was unlikely any armour with the ability to carry materia would be available here.

As Reno prepared himself in this manner, he realised his leg was still very sore; while Mako enhancements gave his body much greater ability to naturally heal itself, he would still have appreciated some curative magic to take away the worst of the injury. He'd be lucky to get so much as a potion in this place, and he idly wished he could remember how those were made, so he'd know whether they were likely to exist here. Somehow, it seemed doubtful they would.

There was a way around this, he knew. A way to heal himself without using potions, or healing magic. He just couldn't remember how to do it. It had been an obscure technique he'd been shown just once, although now the method eluded him. It hadn't been too complex, but certainly not very obvious. He'd have to think on it.

"Hey, Dave, do I get breakfast before we go?" he asked, noticing the man wince at the contraction of his name.

"No, you don't. You get breakfast afterwards, if you survive. You sure you can do this? You are limping, you know," Daverrison replied.

"So long as you don't make me walk to wherever this dragon is, I'll be fine," Reno replied. He was more than used to ignoring pain and injuries for short lengths of time in order to fight. This would be the first time in a while that he'd actually entered a fight already injured, however, not to mention a little tired. If he died, he decided, he would make a special effort to make Daverrison and Bob miserable for their rest of their lives. A persistent butterfly could drive anyone insane, and there was no doubt about where Reno's spirit would be going when he died.

"It's quite a distance, so we'll be riding. You do know how to ride a chocobo, don't you?" Daverrison asked.

The Turk couldn't help but smirk at the man, tossing his head in a distinctly cocky and arrogant manner. "Of course I do."

"I wasn't sure. Not many do, because there are so few tame chocobos," Daverrison commented, looking a little annoyed at Reno's attitude.

"You should have realised already that I just know everything," Reno responded, including another cocky, lop-sided smirk.

"Indeed. You should know that we're leaving, then." With this statement, Daverrison picked his way across the ruins of the office, pausing at the doorway to look back at the red-head.

"Course I do. Let's get this over with so I can have breakfast," Reno said, following the officer over the disaster the area outside the cells had become, moving with significantly more difficulty than Daverrison had done. His leg seemed unwilling to bear his weight for any length of time, and it was only his quick reflexes that kept him from tripping, falling, or otherwise maiming himself as he crossed the room. He'd be alright once the adrenaline of a battle was pounding through him.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno and Final Fantasy VII aren't mine. Bob, Daverrison, the plot, and Reno's weird dreams are mine however.

Author's Notes - I promised Midgar in this chapter, didn't I? I'm sorry... Next chapter, okay? Or maybe the chapter afterwards. It depends how much I manage to write in the next chapter. I'm not good with action scenes, so we might well see Midgar by the end of next chapter. At the very least, there will be the dragon! I know not a vast amount really happened in this chapter, but despite that, I still kinda like it. It was fun to write.

Tijuana Pirate: Check it out! We have butterflies in this chapter! There will definitely be more revelations about Shinra later on, although I'm not saying what. I probably gave too much away, even there. I think I may have to check out that book you saw reference to. I would explain my use of Ouroboros more, but it would ruin my plot and stuff.

Sabriel41: You like my settings then? I worry I'm far too overly descriptive and wordy at times, but it just never seems right unless I describe everything just as I see it in my head; possibly this says something about my imagination, but still. For the butterflies, they're the by-product of another story, and just had to be included in this one...

WrexSoul: I can well believe that perfectionism is a writer's worst enemy. It's difficult to put a chapter down and say 'no more adjustments'. Still, I will trust the opinions of my reviewers and Beta-readers, and very grateful for them I am too. This is definitely going to be a long story, I think.

Reviews are always welcome, as usual, and so too is poking. Feel free to poke me by email or AIM as well, if you wish. My Beta-readers do not poke half as often as they should, although for the moment, my own inspiration will cause me to begin the next chapter.

* * *


	9. Dungeons And Dragons

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Nine - Dungeons And Dragons**

* * *

After the somewhat rude awakening earlier that day, which had turned out to be only an hour or two short of dawn, the morning had proceeded in a lazy, almost casual manner. The prisoner that Reno had so successfully prevented from escaping was taken away to the tiny surgery the town of Darton had chosen to refer to as a hospital, under the care of the local doctor and Bob, who seemed to be remarkably medically inclined, considering his enormous size. Once the rest of the town awoke, the full compliment of police officers had worked together to clear away the wreckage in the office, under the joint supervision of Daverrison and Reno; the latter only because his leg was still too stiff and sore for him to be helping, or staying out of the way.

Spending the morning perched on one of the partially collapsed desks, calling out hints and suggestions to those doing the cleaning had not made the young man particularly popular, and so Daverrison was obliged to remove the red-head before anyone decided to take their threats a little further. The police commander seemed to have written off Reno's obnoxious behaviour as nerves for the upcoming fight with the black dragon.

Which might have had a little truth in it, but only because the Turk himself knew he wasn't really in a good enough condition to be taking on a dragon in combat. He knew he would survive, because he always did. It was part of his innate luck that he never actually died, even when his injuries were severe enough that he should. But for the most part, he wasn't nervous; it seemed rather pointless to Reno, considering that being nervous wouldn't change the inevitable outcome of the fight. But to distract himself from the thought of black dragons, he'd devoted some of his energy to being irritating.

After the third remark of 'you missed a spot', Daverrison had declared that the rest of the cleanup could be achieved without supervision, and had pulled Reno outside of the ruined office. With a curt order to stay put and not get into trouble, Daverrison had left him there, going alone to the small chocobo stables in the town to acquire two of the birds. Reno had behaved himself too, if only because of a momentary lack of inspiration, rather than any real desire to be obedient.

That had been perhaps three hours ago, and by this point Reno was beginning to dislike chocobos, or at least dislike riding chocobos when every pounding step the running bird took sent painful jolts through his injured leg. He was going to die, wasn't he? He was going to get eaten, and chomped into mush by a huge black dragon, and then swallowed, and digested, and the dragon would use one of his bones to pick chunks of his flesh out of its teeth. Reno was almost beginning to wish he'd stayed in the cell and remained a prisoner.

Unconsciously, his hands tightened on the pale yellow feathers of the chocobo's long neck as the large bird leapt over a small ditch in the rough road, causing pain to flare once again in his leg, and the chocobo responded to this rough treatment with an indignant wark. Despite this, sideways glances at Daverrison suggested that Reno was the more experienced with chocobos, and was having much less difficulty with the ride, injuries or not.

As far as he could tell, they had been traveling steadily eastwards, and the distant mountains were growing closer as the rolling hills the road cut across became increasingly rugged. The hills were less rolling, and were now definitely more mountainous, pitted with rocks and the occasional small cliff, visible from the road that wound through the rough terrain. Although the landscape was familiar enough, the air seemed so much cleaner, almost a pleasure to breath in. This was what had always been meant by the concept of fresh mountain air, which Reno had never understood before. Even in the mountains in his time, the air was somewhat polluted.

Here the air was clean, smelling faintly of heather and distant snow. The ground around the road was coated with thick, dry grasses and strange dark plants with purple flowers, the kind of flora Reno vaguely associated with heather. Here and there a few butterflies fluttered around the flowers, evidently unconcerned by the chill mountain air. Above, the sky was a clear, crisp blue, patched with pleasantly fluffy white clouds, and the sun shone down on them, warming them despite the cool breeze that swept down from the nearby mountains. It was, on the whole, a pleasant day.

And to Reno, another 'adventure in nature'. This was all very pleasant, but he was beginning to miss the cities of his own time. It felt like an age since he'd been slinking through the heavy downpour of rain in Junon, and depressing as that weather had been, it was still home. It was a severe blow to his sense of independence, but the Turk realised he genuinely missed the familiarity of Junon, and his life there. It had been boring, but it was familiar, and part of him. All the more, he wanted to get this over with so he could get to Midgar more quickly, or at least get eaten by the dragon and no longer capable of worrying about it.

Naturally, there was only one thing he could do in the face of such depressing thoughts, and the need to hasten their arrival at the mines. "Are we nearly there yet?" he asked, looking over at Daverrison.

"Yeah, not long. I hope you're ready for this, Turk," the man responded, not sounding in the least amused at Reno's mockingly petulant question.

"Me too, actually," Reno responded, his thoughts brought unerringly back to the problem at hand; that of his impending death by dragon. Really not the way he'd expected to go. Of course, he'd always seen his death as something that would come violently, but he'd been imagining something along the lines of a bullet to the brain, rather than being torn to pieces by an overgrown lizard.

Before too long, the chocobos ran to a halt, reined in by their riders as they approached the rocky entrance of what could only be the Mythril Mines. Even to Reno, who'd only ever seen the mines in latter days, when they had been abandoned and left in ruin, the outline was familiar enough, although cleaner, more freshly cut. Here the rocks were hewn roughly to create the tunnel that descended into the mines themselves, not smoothed with the passage of time and the growth of moss as they were in his time.

The road they had followed here widened to a circular bare patch of earth around the mouth of the tunnel, allowing plenty of space for the unloading of mythril from the small wood and metal carts set onto rough tracks. A tall wooden buffer lay at the end of the tracks, a good twenty feet from the entrance to the mines; and while Reno's knowledge of mining was limited, he guessed this construction was to prevent the carts running off the end of the tracks. Several such carts rested here now, lined up against the buffer, and left abandoned. A few even had some chunks of mythril ore in them, and scattered across the ground nearby. The miners had left in a hurry, so much so that they hadn't been concerned with leaving the valuable mythril or their tools behind in the dirt.

"I guess they didn't want to hang around with a dragon here," Reno remarked as he slid from the back of his chocobo, tying the bird's reins to the buffer at the end of the tracks.

"I hardly blame them. I wouldn't want to stay here either," Daverrison agreed, and he too tethered his chocobo to the buffer. The two birds squawked to each other, the soft 'warks' sounding almost muffled, despite the eerie silence that surrounded the mines.

"We don't have any choice, though. Let's do this," Reno said, smirking despite the deep foreboding that he felt as he walked to the dark hole before them. There seemed to be no light inside, none of the torches or paraffin lamps that should have been present. But a dark dragon would dislike light, and so likely as not would have made some effort to remove all sources of light from the mines.

Which meant they would have to take some light with them, if they intended to see more than a few inches in front of their noses. Reno turned back from the cave, casting his gaze around the area nearby. There had to be something here that would burn. As he searched the bare earth around the cave entrance, inspiration hit, and the red-head couldn't help but smirk in amusement. Adaptability was the name of the game, and it was a game he always won.

Moving away from the tunnel now, he picked up one of the discarded tools, something reminiscent of a pickaxe. It was so stereotypical that he couldn't help but snigger softly, before working on removing the metal head of the tool. He only needed the wooden handle. With the beginnings of his new torch in hand, he shifted the backpack on his shoulders, allowing him access to the contents; one of the towels he'd 'borrowed' from Maggie would be perfect for this. The small, relatively light teatowel he recovered from the bag Reno now twined around the end of the long shaft of wood from the pickaxe.

"Very nice," Daverrison remarked dryly. "You forgot one thing."

"What's that then?" Reno asked innocently, turning now to look at his companion, eyes sparkling with amusement. He knew already what the man was going to say, but he contained himself, keeping his facial expression neutral, but questioning, as he awaited the man's response.

"The fire," Daverrison pointed out. In the man's defense, for all he knew they didn't have any means with which to make fire, although if he'd checked the contents of Reno's stolen backpack, he would have seen the box of matches contained within. But Reno had something a little more flashy in mind than simply striking a match.

"Fire1," he said simply, casting the spell in an almost offhanded manner, igniting the towel wrapped tightly around the end of the pickaxe handle.

To Reno's amusement, Daverrison jumped back, and the Turk wasn't certain whether his companion's surprise was more to do with the magic, or the casual way in which Reno had used it. For the red-head, a simple fire spell was nothing at all, little more than a simple amusement, but in a world where magic was unknown, held only in myths as tales for children, even the smallest spell was enough to impress.

"I forgot about that," Daverrison said, relaxing a little, although sending Reno some very wary looks, as the young man himself idly tossed the burning torch from one hand to the other. "You really can do magic, can't you? I thought it was just a myth."

"I guess a lot of people do. A whole lot more people could do it, if they simply understood how," was the shrugged response from Reno, who now moved back towards the cave, albeit with the remains of a limp. The muscle was protesting at having to support his weight, but he was ignoring the injury, for now, blocking the pain of it from his mind as if this were a mission, which in many respects it was. He could worry about how much further damage he'd do to his leg with moving around on it, after he'd killed the dragon and was certain of his continued state of living.

He paused outside the cave, and looked back at Daverrison. "I assume you're still coming? Got to have someone to see me kill this thing." Or someone to pick up whatever chunks of him would remain after the dragon was finished with him. He doubted the police commander would be any use, other than watching to make sure Reno fulfilled his end of the bargain, which was hardly any help to the Turk himself.

"Of course I'm coming. This is something I have to see," Daverrison said, stepping up to follow Reno as the red-head walked into the darkness of the mines, waving the lighted torch in front of him to banish the shadows that clung ominously to the chipped and fragmented stone walls. Where the deep orange light of the fire shone, there were occasional reflected glimmers from traces of mythril present in the rock here. 

The tunnel had literally been carved to follow the largest seam of mythril through the stone of the mountain, heading down and east, before bearing left a little, and still sinking further into the ground. Reno retrieved his compass from his backpack, standing still for a moment as he studied the device. It was useless down here however; the effects of the surrounding mythril, either magnetic or magical, were powerful enough to render the compass worthless. An interesting effect, to say the least.

By his best guess, Reno decided the dragon would be in the deepest, darkest part of the mines, and he wondered idly if these tunnels weren't in some way connected to some other, more natural system of caves. There was no other way that a creature as large as a dragon could have got into the mines, as if this particular tunnel was any example of the others, it was far too narrow for even the lithest of dragons to pass through. If there were other passageways here, they would be in the furthest reaches of the Mythril Mines, and probably in the deepest parts. Perhaps the miners had broken through into a natural cave system, surprising the draconic inhabitant. Reno's imagination was quite content to wildly explore the possibilities as he moved deeper into the mines.

The air was still, almost stagnant, and smelled oddly metallic and tinged with sulphur. This was something Reno knew well enough to indicate the presence of a dragon, and it was a much watered down version of the proverbial dragon breath. It was also almost uncomfortably warm and humid, soon causing sweat to drip from both men's foreheads and soak through their clothing. Reno took this in his stride, treating the entire situation as an adventure, or simply another mission, and so ignoring any discomfort he felt, but Daverrison seemed not to be enjoying the rising temperature.

Despite this, they continued in silence, Daverrison following Reno's lead, since the red-head had both the torch and the majority of the experience. And unlike the police commander, the Turk seemed not to be in the least afraid. This wasn't exactly the truth, but Reno knew how to cover his anxiety for the situation. Never before had he fought a dragon in a one-on-one scenario. He would rather have gone against the entirety of Avalanche, in fact.

Their course took them down into the very depths of the mines, and still the air grew hotter, to the point where even breathing became a somewhat unpleasant experience. "I would have thought this was a red dragon, for all this heat..." Daverrison remarked as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Reno shook his head. "A lot of dragons like the heat, even if they're not fire based. Dark dragons come from dark places, underground, and the really deep caves are close to the Lifestream, and so can be very hot. The deeper you go, the higher the temperature rises," he explained, already knowing that his companion wouldn't understand. There was so much knowledge that would only be discovered years into the future, knowledge that was commonplace for those of Reno's time, but beyond comprehension for the people here.

"The Lifestream?" Daverrison asked, fixing Reno with a curious look.

"If we survive this, I'll explain it all," the Turk responded, and suddenly came to a halt. He raised a hand to silence Daverrison and prevent him from taking a step further. "Here. The dragon is in the next cave. I can hear it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

A glance sideways told him that the police commander was struggling to hear the sound as well, but was unable to do so. "I don't hear anything," Daverrison said quietly.

"I have enhanced hearing. It's there, trust me. Stay here," Reno ordered, not even thinking as he took command of the situation. He was a Turk, and yet not just a Turk: he was the leader of the Turks, and had been trained for the position. Taking command was something that came naturally to him, at least when he had to, and this was one of the situations where Daverrison needed to listen to him. Reno knew this would be much easier if he didn't have to worry about the other man getting himself killed, too.

He crept forward, switching the torch to his right hand so he could take the mag-rod in his left. After a moment, he pushed the end of the torch into the sand at his feet, letting it stand there, still ablaze, as he continued forward. He wanted to have a hand free, in case he needed it, and the torch would still cast enough light into the adjoining cave to allow him to see. It would be dark, but his Mako-enhanced eyes would be able to see well enough by the limited light.

The tunnel rounded a corner, and then opened out into a large, clearly natural cave. The miners really had dug themselves into more trouble than they could handle. The rock formations were familiar enough, though: stalactites hanging down from the domed ceiling of the cavern high above, while below them stalagmites rose, reaching upwards in a billion year race to touch the sky. This cave was still here in Reno's time, changed very little.

Well, clearly the dragon wasn't there in the Turk's time, nor the horde on which it lay; mostly dark mythril ore, although here and there pure mythril stones shone and glimmered in the flickering red light from the torch back in the tunnel, and there were even a few traces of gold, silver and bronze. Jewelry from the miners that had been killed by the beast, Reno imagined.

If the effect of the dim light on the horde was eerie, it was doubly so on the form of the dragon itself. But Reno couldn't help but feel impressed. Dragons in his time were much smaller, and less powerful. Years of killing had likely reduced the population, but here there were few with the power to take on such an animal. This dragon was huge, and well muscled, and even in this light Reno could see it bore few scars or broken scales. Its scales were of the purest jet black, but tinted with deep purple or blue in places, and a few of them shone with a kind of starlight. Amongst dark dragons, this one truly was a beauty.

From its powerful shoulders its huge wings rose, slightly flared to cover the ovoid objects the beast lay coiled around; it was wrapped around them in such a manner, with its head laying across the tip of its tail, that it reminded Reno powerfully of the serpent in his dream. It seemed to be protecting the objects it lay around, and Reno realised after a moment that this dragon was female. It had probably only killed the miners to protect its clutch.

He paused in his steps, just to stand and look at the dragon for a few moments. There was no question of not killing it, despite its massive size and powerful instincts to protect its offspring. Reno was a Turk, and he was here to do the job. His half of the deal, and no matter how beautiful this creature was, no matter that he would be destroying not only the parent, but its young as well, he had to uphold his part of the bargain. Reno of the Turks had collapsed the Sector Seven Plate on top of a million people, and had felt no guilt. A dragon and its offspring were nothing.

It was now or never; the creature was asleep, and so the red-head at least had the advantage of surprise. He reached his hand into his pocket, soon wrapping his fingers around a few orbs of materia. These were his combative magic materia, and of these he selected a couple, pushing them into the empty slots in the mag-rod. Lightning, Fire and Poison he chose, while Destruct remained in his right hand; it would be useless against a dark dragon. After a moment, the yellow orb of Deathblow joined the three green materia in the mag-rod. Reno was ready, or as ready as he could be, anyway. He had little in the way of defensive magic, something that had never worried him before. It did now, though, very much so.

He walked carefully towards the dragon, keeping his movements as near silent as he could, and when he was within range, he targeted the most immediately powerful spell he had at the dragon. Bio3 would, with any luck, poison it, but Reno didn't hold much optimism for this; he vaguely remembered something about not many dragons being vulnerable to poison.

As soon as the spell was cast, he followed it up with a blast of electricity from the mag-rod, knowing that his main advantage here was speed, rather than strength. The sound of a bio spell had always amused Reno, a kind of glooping noise accompanied by the bubbling of the deep green visual effects of the spell. Even as the green bubbles boiled around the dragon, the arc of electricity from the mag-rod cut through them, creating one of the most interesting visual effects the Turk had ever seen.

And the effect was... absolutely nothing. Evidently dark dragons were immune to both poison and electricity, which made Reno's task that much harder. The only noticeable effect his attack had was that the dragon stirred in its sleep, muscles twitching as it slowly awoke. It took a deep, sighing breath, and exhaled with a deep growl as it lifted its massive head and turned it to focus on the intruder.

The comparatively tiny intruder, Reno realised, watching as the dragon went from laying down to reared up onto its powerful hind legs in one fluid movement that impressed the agile Turk himself. Who would have thought a creature so huge would be so fast, or so dexterous? He really didn't have any chance of prevailing against a creature like this.

And yet, dark dragons relied primarily on physical attacks rather than magic, with the exclusion of the beast's death magic. If he could avoid its teeth, claws and bladed tail, he might have a chance of surviving. Reno didn't even so much as hesitate before letting loose a fire spell, a weaker one just to test its effect. He didn't want to waste any more energy on magic that wouldn't work against the dragon. The mag-rod he pushed back into its holster at his hip; the weapon was confirmed to be useless against this opponent.

Distracted for a moment with this action however, Reno had only a moment's warning before the dragon's claws slashed at him, a massive paw larger than his entire body impacting hard with his side and throwing him off his feet and into the side of one of the large stalagmites. The structure cracked slightly with the impact, and from the sudden flare of pain in his chest, the rock hadn't been the only thing that had cracked. The dragons claws had torn through his clothing too, leaving deep wounds across his side.

The only thing that saved him here was the fire spell he'd released; despite being a weak one, it caused the dragon enough pain to distract it from killing Reno while he was down. It gave him the moment he needed to pull himself to his feet, despite the pain of the injury. He wasn't sure which had affected the dragon more; the fire itself or the light it created, but he wasn't about to question it. Targeting another, much more powerful spell, Reno knew he would be relying heavily on his fire materia now.

Even as the fire spell struck the dragon, its paw swiped again at Reno, but this time he saw it coming and leapt backwards, away from the jagged claws that threatened to disembowel him. The dragon's aim had been thrown off too, evidently by the fire, so the blow wouldn't perhaps have been critically wounding even if it had hit. Reno didn't want to find out, however, and had no intention of letting the dragon injure him again. He might not be able to get up again after another blow like the first one.

He backed away from the dragon now, reaching for the gun tucked into his belt, and quickly moving the Deathblow materia from the mag-rod to this weapon. He knew the target he wanted to aim for, and the Deathblow would assist his aim, which in the dim, flickering light of the cavern, would be hazy at best. He focused on the yellow materia orb, and lined his sights carefully, firing a single bullet at the dragon. He had little ammunition, and it was unlikely he'd be able to get any more in the near future, so he had to be careful.

The bullet ricocheted from the solid scales over the dragon's cheekbones, barely a few inches from his intended target. Reno cursed, and aimed again, but not before the huge black dragon could retaliate to the attack. It reared back, lifted its huge head and roared, the sound not one of fury, but of building magic. Reno had barely a moment to realise what was about to hit him before it did, and instinctively he forced himself to resist the magic, despite already knowing it would be useless. The death magic of a dark dragon was far too powerful to be withstood by simple strength of will.

But if he was going to die, he was going to take the dragon out with him. He fired once more with his gun, trusting the Deathblow materia to do its job of making sure the blow hit its target despite the aim that had been thrown off by the onslaught of the death magic tearing fiercely around him, pulling more at his mind and soul than at his body. The bullet struck true, however, piercing the dragon's large eye and passing directly into its brain, even as the last tendrils of the death spell tore at Reno.

There was a brief sense of satisfaction at his skills; he'd killed a dark dragon, all on his own, and without help. Just a shame that no one would know he'd succeeded.

* * *

Disclaimer - Not mine; Reno belongs to Square. However, considering I've now bought three copies of the game over the course of the years, the last two vastly over-priced, I think I've at least paid for a significant share in Reno. Will that hold up in court?

Author's Notes - Long chapter, I know. It might have gone on longer, but... cliffhanger. You know you love 'em really.

Really, I had several more plans for this chapter, but I felt this was a good place to stop it. Seeing as I seem to have accidentally kind of killed Reno and all. Is 'ooops' a satisfactory response to this?

My eternal thanks to WrexSoul for doing the beta on this one, especially showing me and correcting all my odd uses of the comma. Reno has butterflies, I have commas.

* * *


	10. The Lepidopteral Angel

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Ten - The Lepidopteral Angel **

* * *

Here there was simply darkness, blackness so all encompassing and absolute that he could see nothing in any direction, nor even the hand that he waved through the void in front of him. He couldn't tell if it was because there was simply no light, or no hand to wave. He couldn't entirely feel anything, no movement of the air, nor even the feel of his clothing against his skin. If he were naked in this eerily silent void, he would feel the cold, and yet there was no temperature either, neither heat nor chill.

Were he pressed to describe it, he would simply have remarked that it was somewhat like floating, as if his consciousness itself were adrift in a great ocean of nothingness, lost and alone in the darkness. He found himself wondering idly if he was dead, and realised after a moment or two that he probably was; death magic was remarkably efficient in that regard.

Before he was left to wonder any longer, however, something revealed itself to his vision. It was something glimmering brightly silver in the distance, hazy and difficult to make out, although he could tell after a few moments that it was coming towards him. He was pleased, but not overly surprised, to identify the thing as a butterfly, shining bright metallic silver in the utter darkness. It fluttered before him like some lepidopteral angel, disturbingly intelligent antennae regarding him with curiousity.

It seemed to be telling him something, although the only impression that he really got was the vague concept of 'not yet'. This didn't, on the whole, make a whole lot of sense to him, and so when the butterfly turned and fluttered away from him, he swore with frustration. Or would have done were it possible to make any sound at all here. Wherever here actually was. When the butterfly didn't respond to his attempt to swear at it, he moved to follow it. It wasn't about to get away from him that easily.

And yet, despite his attempts to run after it, he seemed not to be moving at all, while the silver butterfly became increasingly distant, before finally disappearing from sight, once again plunging him into total darkness and isolation. What the hell had that message been about anyway? What kind of message was 'not yet'? Fucking butterflies.

Wait, he didn't mean that!

"Turk."

Huh? That wasn't a butterfly. The darkness remained around him, but there was that voice, speaking clearly enough to him. And with it came other sounds, although not many. An odd thumping sound seemed to echo around him, almost drowning out the other sounds: the voice and the soft movement of air.

Where he'd felt nothing before, he now slowly became aware of pain coursing through his body; his thigh of course, where he'd been injured before, and now the gaping wounds across his side. With every resounding thump that filled his ears he felt blood pouring from the wounds across his chest. And with every movement of air he heard, more pain flared in his chest, to the point where he began to wish the uncomfortably warm air would be still for a while. Beneath all of that, his entire body ached, which at least alerted him to the fact that he actually had a body once again.

"Turk." The voice was insistent and demanding, firm enough to cause Reno's semi-conscious mind to be reminded strongly of Tseng.

He let a soft groan escape his lips, and forced his eyes to open. "What happened?" he asked, experiencing that momentary sense of disorientation as he woke up a little more. He was lying on his back, surrounded by flickering orange light, and there was a man leaning over him, The thumping he'd heard turned out to be his own heartbeat, he realised after a moment, and the gentle rushing of air was in fact his slow, somewhat ragged breaths.

"Thought you were dead for a moment. You got the dragon though," the man over him said, a man who Reno's mind quickly supplied a name for. It was Daverrison.

"Did you..." he was forced to trail off as his lungs protested at the speech, and he forced himself to roll over onto his side as he coughed, feeling the taste of blood in his mouth. "Did you see it?"

"Yeah, I saw the whole thing. It was pretty impressive. I know you told me to stay where I was, but I just had to see. What was that magic it hit you with? I've never seen anything like it," Daverrison said, moving his hands to steady Reno as his body was wracked with coughs again, forcing up the blood that had collected in his lungs.

"Death magic... I don't understand... I should be dead..." Reno said quietly, before trailing off. This time it wasn't due to his body's attempt to prevent him from suffocating, but because he noticed two objects lying on the floor nearby. One was his gun, which he'd likely dropped when he lost consciousness. The other was the lime green orb of materia, one he instantly recognised as Destruct. He'd been holding it in his hand while he fought, hadn't he?

He couldn't help but laugh, although was cut off quickly as this almost caused him to lose consciousness once again, bringing pain a little more intense than he could handle. He took the materia in his hand, and then looked at Daverrison, who was looking at him oddly. "I understand. Offhand defense magic."

Daverrison frowned in confusion. "What's that?" he asked, curious despite the fact that he evidently felt they shouldn't be talking about it here and now.

"Very, very primitive defense magic. I can't really explain it to you. It's quite old, only ever covered briefly in my training, so I didn't even realise I'd done it," Reno explained, somewhat cryptically. Even half out of his mind with the pain that tore at him, he wasn't about to reveal the true power of the glowing spheres he carried with him. 

Materia carrying armour and weapons had been developed along the principle that materia in a defensive slot could protect against a particular type of attack, while the same materia in an offensive position would add the power of that materia to a physical attack. This had been discovered by pure chance, when it was noted that a materia carried in a person's offhand during a fight seemed to have some protective ability; not as much as armour, but there was definitely some.

By simply neglecting to return the Destruct materia to his pocket, and instead carrying it in his right hand, Reno's offhand, he had probably saved his own life. The Destruct materia wasn't powerful enough to negate the effects of the death magic entirely, but it had certainly prevented him from actually dying. If the silver butterfly had been any indication, it had been a close thing.

"You still look like you're about to pass out again though," Daverrison pointed out, a frown crossing his features. Evidently, he didn't fully believe in magic enough to trust that this simple, chance bit had saved Reno's life, albeit narrowly.

"I'll be alright..." Reno replied, forcing his body to respond as he pulled himself slowly to his feet. He'd had worse injuries before this, and it certainly wasn't the pain in his chest making him feel so ragged; the death magic, despite not killing him, had left him aching and sore, and his legs wobbled slightly beneath him.

"I dunno. Maybe you ought to come back to Darton," Daverrison said; evidently Reno's condition was bad enough for the man to notice.

"I probably should, but I need to get to Midgar as soon as I can. I'll be alright, if you let me take one of the chocobos," Reno replied; he knew full well that while medical attention would be almost certainly necessary for him, Darton wouldn't have the resources to deal with his injuries. He would be better off getting to the city as soon as he could, and hoping to have some luck there. At least there would be a wider range of experience in Midgar, and so more chance of being able to find help.

"That wasn't in the deal, Turk," Daverrison pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," the red-head responded, trusting in the fact that he wouldn't need to persuade Daverrison, not when the police commander would soon give in, in the face of Reno's physical condition. To Daverrison, it would look unlikely that the Turk would be able to walk all the way to Midgar, although Reno himself knew otherwise. It would be hard and tiring, and probably no good for him at all, but he could manage it; Mako enhancements did enable him to keep going when by all rights he should have dropped. He'd rather ride, though. Just in case there was anything nasty in the marshes beyond the mines.

"Even so, I guess you could borrow the chocobo, and have it sent back when you get to Midgar," Daverrison said after a moment, giving Reno an intense feeling of satisfaction, which he concealed.

"Thanks," Reno said, offering the man a faint smile, just by way of showing some gratitude. Personally, he felt he was entitled to keep the chocobo, after what he'd just done for Daverrison and his town, but he let that slide. He got his own way, and that was good enough for him.

"Wait here, then, and I'll get your chocobo," Daverrison said, turning away from Reno and heading out of the cavern, back towards the tunnels that lead out of the mines. 

The Turk felt momentarily offended, as if he weren't capable of walking back outside to get the chocobo himself. But, he reasoned, just because he was able to do so didn't mean that he should, and there was no harm in taking advantage of the fact that Daverrison would do this menial task for him. No point in wasting energy, especially when he knew he'd need it to get to Midgar.

Reno moved to lean against the broad side of a stalagmite, allowing a soft grunt as the pressure of the rock against his back slightly intensified the pain in his side. There really would have to be some good hospitals in Midgar, else he would be in some serious trouble. That was a problem he'd have to deal with when it arose, however; he knew there was nothing he could do to help himself now.

He closed his eyes, letting the soft sound of the cavern lull him into a quiet doze. It was almost silent, nothing more than the passing of air and the gentle dripping of water from a distant recess in the wall. The air itself was warm, and where before it had been unpleasantly so, now Reno found it oddly comforting. Death magic, if it didn't kill, tended to take a lot out of its victim, leaving them physically and emotionally drained; the heat, therefore, was welcome and gently relaxing.

The arrival of Daverrison, leading a clearly frightened chocobo behind him, caused enough sound to wake Reno with a start, although he noted with some distaste that his reactions had slowed somewhat. Not that the police commander seemed to have noticed this, as he appeared now to be having trouble pulling the large bird into the cavern itself. The stench of dragon and the form of the dead beast was enough to terrify the chocobo.

Reno pushed himself away from the stalagmite, heading slowly to Daverrison and the frightened bird. "You have to cover its eyes. What it can't see can't hurt it," he said after a moment of watching the man struggle with the chocobo.

Daverrison nodded, and shrugged off his jacket; considering the heat of the cavern, he was probably pleased for an excuse to do this. He threw the garment over the chocobo's head, and once its eyes were covered, the large bird almost immediately calmed, allowing itself to be lead into the cavern.

Heading forward to take the reins of the chocobo, Reno paused mid-stride, and turned his gaze to the huge form of the dead dragon. He walked over to the beast, studying it for a moment, noting where his bullet had entered the creature's eye and passed straight to its brain. That had to have been a shot in a million, and Reno dully realised that Deathblow materia was very much underestimated. The body of the dragon still twitched spasmodically.

Now he looked towards the dragon's horde and strolled over to it, kicking idly at a chunk of mythril that had rolled down off of the pile. This stuff was all worthless, at least to Reno, but another object caught his eye. The dragon, during the course of the battle, had managed to destroy most of its eggs; its rage to kill its attacker had resulted in the destruction of the clutch it had been trying to protect. 

But somehow, one egg had survived, and quite apart from any desire to take care of it, Reno knew it would probably sell very well in Midgar, and he'd be needing some local currency to pay for his medical assistance at the very least, if not pay for the help to get home. He crouched down, touching the egg with one hand. It was warm to the touch, which was a good sign.

Reno pulled his backpack to him and opened it, pulling out a few of the towels he'd taken from Maggie; those really were coming in handy, far more so than he'd expected. These he wrapped around the egg before transferring it to the pack, fitting it in tightly with the other items within packed closely around it. It was secure enough. When he stood up and shouldered the backpack, he felt it noticeably heavier, and was grateful he wouldn't have to be walking carrying this much. But the egg radiated heat, and he could feel its warmth against his back.

Now he returned to the chocobo, and the waiting Daverrison, who had been watching him with curiousity. "You're taking the egg with you?" the man asked him.

Reno nodded. "Yeah, I'm going to need it. The horde, though, is for you and your town."

"Thought you might say that, somehow," Daverrison responded, smiling in amusement.

"Yeah, well, there's far too much for me to carry, and I reckon you'll be needing it more. There's a lot of mythril there, and since you've lost so many of your miners..." the Turk answered with a shrug. It sounded better than saying the mythril and few items of jewelry were pretty much worthless to him, especially considering the size and weight of it all. Reno intended to travel as light as he could, and the dragon egg was heavy enough.

"Well, I guess this is it. I gather you know your way out of here?" Daverrison asked.

"Yeah, I know my way," Reno replied, not particularly wanting to go into the details of just how he knew. But the police commander seemed to just accept the statement, as he'd accepted the magic. Reno was an unknown to him, somewhat beyond comprehension, and Daverrison wasn't the type to question things he knew he'd never be able to understand.

"Alright then. Good luck, Turk," the man said, handing the reins of the chocobo to Reno, who didn't immediately mount. He would get the bird outside and away from the dragon before he rode it.

"Good luck to you, too," Reno responded, flashing the man a brief smile before leading the chocobo across the broad cavern, avoiding getting too close to the dead dragon or its horde. Chocobos didn't have a great sense of smell, but certainly good enough to smell a dragon when it was in close proximity.

When he reached the opposite edge of the cavern, he turned back to look at Daverrison. He couldn't resist it, not after everything that had happened. "Oh, and by the way, Dave, the name's not Turk. It's Cloud Strife." And with a soft laugh, he left the cave, leaving a bewildered yet furious Daverrison behind.

Leaving the system of caves and tunnels was something that proved easier said than done. The long, narrow tunnels were all part of a much larger and more complex network passing through the mountains, and even with the light generated by the charged up mag-rod, it was difficult to navigate. He realised he should have claimed the torch from Daverrison before they parted ways. 

These tunnels weren't the artificial ones dug by the miners, but natural ones, cut through the mountain by the passage of water through the relatively soft rock. This water, practically an underground stream, flowed across the floor of the tunnel, deep enough to come half way up his calf muscles. The water was cold, and unpleasant against his skin, now that it had soaked through his boots and pants.

Reno was sure that a small amount of geology had been included, for some reason that eluded him, into his training. Most likely because he'd never received any formal education, and so he'd been bombarded with various bits of knowledge, enough at least that he could feign having been to school. However, for all the things he'd been taught, he couldn't currently recall anything about the nature of these caves; he'd never anticipated having to travel through them without some way of guiding himself.

But then, being sent back in time into a world without all the luxuries he'd become accustomed to, and having to survive entirely on the basis of his own knowledge hadn't exactly been an event Reno had ever planned for. Forethought had never been his strong point, after all, and circumstances as bizarre as this had never really occurred to him. 

Which, he reflected, was a little unusual for him, as far as the bizarreness of it all went. His imagination had often caused him to theorise about strange situations and how to get out of them, but not once had he ever imagined what he'd do if he was sent back in time. He'd worked out what he'd do if he was abducted by aliens, if he was trapped inside a computer program, if he was left alone in Santa Claus' house, if he became invisible, if he was given the power to destroy the universe, and a multitude of other ridiculous scenarios. But he'd never considered time travel.

So he fell back on the tried and tested method of what to do when lost and unsure of the way to go. He wandered aimlessly around the caves, trusting his senses to alert him when he found a way out. He did make the conscious decision that if he did meet someone he would stop and ask for directions, but in the face of things, that wasn't likely. But metaphorically, he did ask, since he would have if there was someone to ask, so no one could accuse him of refusing to ask for directions. That seemed to work.

Reno was beginning to feel a little frustrated with this aimless wandering, however; he was feeling the cold, now that he was out of the heated cavern the dragon had used. He knew it wasn't actually cold, but simply his body's reaction to the death magic. With a shiver, he tightened his jacket around his thin frame, and looked at the chocobo he still lead through the cave. "Think yourself lucky. You got feathers," he told it, and received a wark in response.

After a while, he came across a place where the tunnel they were moving through split into two, branching off in two separate directions. One was larger and wider, worn open in this manner by the passage of the underground stream. The other tunnel was much narrower, host to a far smaller and slower stream of water; this spilled into the larger stream, thus merging the two tunnels.

Reno paused here, looking from one tunnel to the other, and then at the chocobo. "Well, what do you think?" he asked the bird in a conversational tone. The larger tunnel appealed more, simply because it was more open, and yet from the smaller tunnel he could feel the movement of cold air against his face. This suggested that it might perhaps lead to the surface.

The chocobo warbled softly, and from what Reno could tell, it agreed with his estimation. The smaller tunnel was the more likely to take them out of the caves, and so it was that direction they took. It got them out of the water, at least, since the stream in this tunnel was small enough that it was only half an inch deep, little more than a flowing puddle.

Soon enough, this narrow tunnel widened out, becoming a small cave with a large opening at one end, through which sunlight shone brightly. Reno smiled, and pulled Daverrison's jacket from the chocobo's head, allowing the bird to leave the cave with himself following a short distance behind, quickly wrapping the extra jacket around him.

The view outside the cave was one that he'd expected; he was about halfway up the mountain, and would have a fairly long walk down the stony path before he'd reach the marshes below. Glancing up into the sky, he could see it was fairly late in the day, and the sun would set in an hour or two. Reno didn't particularly fancy crossing the marshes in the night; he'd heard stories about strange lights that could mesmerise a man, leading him into danger. Swamps were much safer by day.

The chocobo stood at a nearby bush, pecking at the leaves in an enthusiastic manner. Some kind of greens the birds liked, most likely. It seemed pleased to be out of the caves, something Reno could most definitely sympathise with. Stopping for something to eat seemed like a good idea though, and so he found himself a rock to sit on, and rummaged around in his backpack for the remainder of the food in there. He should have arranged for a refill back in Darton, he realised. But it was too late to worry about it now.

As the sun began to set, the temperature began to drop slowly, and the already cold Reno began to feel the change all the more. The chill of the air seemed to only intensify the pain he felt with every breath, and the wind that seemed suddenly very bitter pulled at him and cut straight through his clothing. He pulled the jackets he was wearing around him, shifting his position down to the ground below the rock and found a moderately sheltered spot. After a moment he pulled the backpack to him, absorbing the warmth radiated by the dragon egg inside.

* * *

Disclaimer - Nope, Reno's still not mine, and neither are chocobos; they belong to Square. Daverrison is mine though, as is my plotline.

Author's Notes - This chapter was incredibly difficult to write, and I'm still not feeling entirely happy with it. I really did intend to get to Midgar this chapter, but once again, I've failed in that goal. It really will be next chapter though, seriously. I don't think I can make an entire chapter out of the journey between the marshes and Midgar, but then, I didn't expect to make a whole chapter out of escaping the caves...

Again, my eternal thanks to WrexSoul for the beta-reading.

WrexSoul: Well, you were right, I didn't kill off Reno. It would have been a pretty short story if I had, wouldn't it? He has a long way to go yet before I'm done with him.

Tijuana Pirate: I fixed it, see? But I did warn about cliffhangers whenever I get the chance to do them, which is specifically why I ended the last chapter when I did. No cliffhanger this time though. I'm feeling nice...

Again, short author's notes. I have a feeling that with the word count of this chapter, it'll take the entire story over the 50,000 word mark, which is pretty cool. I've never written anything even close to this long before. To encourage this to go further, please read, review and poke. The poking is essential, but I like reviews too. More reviews please.

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	11. The Other Side

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter Eleven - The Other Side **

* * *

It was the cave again, and yet subtly different. The walls of it rose in a high arc, forming a dome far above his head. The rock was smooth, but not flat, the stalactites hanging down glistening wetly as droplets of water continued their downward course, continuing the aeons old formation of the huge rock formations. Below, the stalagmites rose like shimmering cream coloured spires, their shape slightly globular and strange, yet elegant. The dripping of water was a constant sound, small droplets falling from high above and coming to land in a small pool directly below.

It was peaceful, perhaps, but not entirely. He looked around him, enjoying the warmth of the place, and yet his vision was broken by other scenes, brief flashes of something almost like memory, and yet oddly alien. It was the same place, every time; this dimly lit cave. Here was the sight of the dragon, coiled around its clutch with its tail in its mouth. And then there was the dragon, in its rage destroying its own offspring. 

Other visions burned across his mind, alternating with the images of the dragon, and the cavern lying empty and desolate, but peaceful. There were serpents chasing their tails, catching them and devouring them, and occasional glimpses of butterflies, fluttering casually through the empty cave like some vast migration.

The visions flashed by more and more quickly, until they became an indecipherable blur, dragons and serpents and butterflies merging and mingling together, before vanishing, leaving him standing alone in the centre of the huge cavern. Before him there was now just one thing, the shining silver butterfly that had encountered him before. It watched him, softly conveying but one question.

Do you understand?

There were no words, no formal communication, but he felt that if the butterfly were able to speak, it would be asking him this. But understand what? What was there to understand? These dreams that plagued his mind seemed only to became increasingly strange, and more difficult to comprehend each time.

Do you understand?

The question came again, its manner patient and calm, as if it wanted him to realise something on his own, without having to tell him in any less cryptic way. These visions were a puzzle, therefore; something for him to figure out. He recalled the things he'd seen: the dragon destroying its offspring, the serpent devouring its tail, and the migration of butterflies.

No.

He didn't understand. This was beyond him, and entirely too cryptic. He needed more time, perhaps, or more visions to work with. This felt important though, as if the butterfly was trying to tell him something crucial. It was to do with his presence here, in the past, wasn't it? Never before had he received dreams like this, nothing quite so strange and exotic.

But he didn't understand it, not yet. This didn't seem to bother the silver butterfly, however. It seemed to understand him, at least, even if the feeling was far from mutual. It regarded him for a few moments more, and if there was any expression in its large antennae, it was a softly appraising one, and a hint of patient amusement. It was ready to wait, as long as it took for realisation to dawn on Reno's conscious mind.

* * *

A soft wark drew him back into the world he could understand, and he opened his eyes slowly to see the large orange shape of the chocobo's beak, flanked by the rest of its yellow head and bright blue eyes. It was staring at him from a position about two inches in front of his face, and when it sensed that he was awake, gave him what could only be termed as an affectionate peck, before backing away to allow him to get up.

He didn't do so immediately however, taking a moment to acquaint himself with the situation. It was a cold, damp morning, with mist hanging eerily around him, and barely any light filtered down from the sun that he guessed had risen several hours before. The air was cold, and even felt damp, the moisture hanging thickly on the air, making the grey haze around him seem more like fog than mist. Droplets of water had settled on the ground overnight, the dew gleaming oddly in the half-light; it had also conveniently settled on him too, effectively soaking his clothes.

He shivered, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Even that minor movement sent ripples of pain through his chest, and he groaned softly by way of a response. Absolutely wonderful. Sleeping on the hard ground had only accentuated his problems, giving his muscles a chance to seize up and become painfully stiff. And he'd thought breathing was painful before?

It seemed too that the effects of the death magic had remained with him, although considering the chill of the air and the cold water that had soaked his body, it was entirely possible that the cold he was feeling wasn't associated with the death magic at all. Laying around outside all night with only his clothes to keep him warm would have the effect of severely lowering his body temperature. 

If that was the case, then getting up and starting the journey to Midgar would warm him up. Once the sun had risen fully and warmed the air enough to dissipate the heavy fog, it would soon dry his clothes and allow him to regain his lost warmth. On the other hand, if it was the death magic, then no amount of activity would warm him up, and likely as not, such activity would only burn up what little energy remained in him, leaving him colder as a result. The best cure for the after-effects of such magic had always been resting and staying as warm as possible.

But either way he'd have to move; staying here would ultimately result in his death, whereas travelling, even with the injuries he'd sustained, gave him a better chance of survival. The best scenario was that he reached Midgar, and the heat of the sun banished the chill that seemed to penetrate right down into his bones. The worst was that he collapsed somewhere along the way, but if he was on a main road, rather than halfway up a mountain, he'd have a chance of being found.

Not that Reno particularly enjoyed the idea of being discovered unconscious and half-dead on the road somewhere between here and Midgar, but that minor blow to his pride was better than being totally dead. Besides, the butterfly had told him he wasn't allowed to die yet, and the least he could do was make the attempt to avoid dying instead of making the butterflies do all the work to keep him alive. They'd probably change their minds if he abused the fact that they seemed to want him alive.

A logical part of his mind suggested, almost tentatively, that the silver butterfly angel thing had only been a dream, and it wasn't actually a real butterfly. More a part of his imagination, which always had been very active and creative. If the butterfly wasn't real, then it wouldn't care if he died, and the 'not yet' had simply been his own mind rebelling against his impending death. Reno rejected this idea. Of course the butterflies were real.

That settled it, then. He'd just have to force himself to his feet and start the journey to Midgar, daunting as it seemed. This relatively minor action was one that seemed to require far more energy than it should have, however, and even once he pulled himself to his feet, using the nearby rock as leverage, his legs felt weak enough to collapse under him the moment he tried to walk, and every ragged breath he took into his lungs caused pain to flare in his chest so fiercely that it made his mind swim and vision blur.

What wouldn't he give just for a weak restore materia, or even a potion? While it wouldn't even come close to healing the ribs he suspected were cracked, if not broken, it would take the edge away from the pain. But he was here without any form of restorative magic, no way of helping himself save by pure strength of will and determination of mind. He hoped that would be good enough to get him to Midgar.

"Hey, come here," he called to the chocobo, and the bird, apparently a well-trained one, obediently approached him. It greeted him with a soft wark, and nibbled at his hair. Too tired to object to this overt sign of affection, Reno allowed the chocobo to do this, although couldn't help but wonder why the large yellow bird had taken such a liking to him. On the whole, he'd never really gotten on well with chocobos.

Reno thought about returning his backpack to his shoulders, but decided almost immediately that this would cause him a lot of pain, especially if he needed to get into the bag later on, which undoubtedly it would, since it contained all of his belongings, including those he would be needing soon. Instead, he undid the straps of the backpack and fastened them to the rear of the chocobo's saddle. Not an ideal position, but certainly easier than carrying it on his back.

With his belongings secured to the chocobo's saddle, Reno placed his hands on its back, ready to push himself up into the saddle. The bird was pleasantly warm, at least to the Turk's touch; either it had found somewhere to shelter overnight, or it had waterproof feathers. The complexities of the life of a chocobo left to its own devices had never really been understood, as wild birds were generally so shy that no one ever even saw one without using a chocobo lure. Nobody knew where they went at night, for example.

As his mind wandered to the question of how people in this time managed to capture chocobos without using materia, Reno pulled himself onto the chocobo's back, albeit with great difficulty. His muscles rebelled in protest at the effort of getting onto the bird's broad feathered back; they were weakened to the point where lifting his own weight, even with leverage, was unbearably difficult. When he managed to get onto the chocobo's back, he felt exhausted, and took a deep breath. He immediately wished he hadn't.

"Fuck..." Reno murmured, forcing himself to take slow, shallow breaths despite the instinct to breathe more deeply, to pull more air into his lungs in an effort to feed his tired muscles with oxygen.

After a few minutes of careful breathing, he carefully nudged the chocobo into a walk, allowing it to choose its own path down the side of the mountain. It probably had instincts enough to find the best route without putting either itself or its passenger in any danger. Its judgment was likely to be more reliable than Reno's at the moment, considering the fact that the Turk was having difficulty keeping his eyes focused for any length of time.

It seemed the chocobo was a fairly intelligent one however, fully capable of locating its own path down the mountain, choosing the easiest route to traverse, rather than the quickest, which would have resulted in several near vertical drops. The longer, winding path was easily the safest course, travelling between large boulders and around twisted, gnarled old trees.

In the dense fog, which remained reluctant to lift even as the sun rose a little higher in the sky, it was impossible to tell if they were travelling in the right direction, although down the mountain would likely take them to the marshes eventually. Reno couldn't help but speculate about the upcoming swamp, once again pondering the possibility that there would be Midgar Zoloms swimming sinuously through the murky water. He really hoped not, because riding a running chocobo would not be good for him, that much he knew even now.

It would be better, therefore, to take a slower course through the marshes, and hope they passed unnoticed, if indeed there was a population of the enormous snakes here. With any luck, there wouldn't be, and they would have no trouble passing through. But Reno couldn't feel particularly optimistic about this; his instincts told him that Midgar Zoloms were completely natural creatures, and so would definitely exist in this time.

By the time the chocobo reached the base of the mountain, where the stony path petered out into a narrow belt of verdant grassland before finally sinking into the mire of the swamp, it was already a few hours later, perhaps reaching the beginning of mid-morning. It was difficult to tell, however, since the fog had remained, stubbornly clinging to the mountains and staying suspended ominously over the nearby marshes, concealing the full extent of the swamp. 

It was only prior experience that told Reno the Midgar Marshes took a running chocobo an hour to cross. It would be significantly longer for him, assuming that he and his chocobo could cross at a walking pace without being attacked. His mind cautiously focused on his materia, trying to detect which spells, if any, he was currently strong enough to cast. The range was pitifully scant, only the weakest magic was available to him in this state, and he knew already that he had the strength for perhaps one Neo-Turk Light. There was no way he could realistically take on a Midgar Zolom.

Reno gave the chocobo a brief pat on the neck, stroking the soft yellow feathers for a moment. "Okay, we're going to try and walk across the swamp, but if we get attacked, you have to run, alright?" he asked it, not really convinced it understood what he was saying. But it felt better to speak aloud, going over the plan audibly, rather than simply running it through his head. Whether the chocobo understood or not, it still replied with a little warble, perhaps responding merely to the sound of the Turk's voice.

With a soft nudge to the bird's side, Reno set the chocobo walking forward once again. The sound of its clawed feet splashing into the water seemed to echo hollowly in the invasive silence around them, and the fog only intensified this effect, isolating them from the rest of the world. Looking around as the chocobo walked through the shallow water of the marshes, Reno could see only in a short distance in all directions; the thick fog completely surrounded them.

Interspersed in an apparently random manner throughout the swamp were small tussocks of damp earth, coated with soft, oddly springy grass and strange plants that were completely foreign and exotic to Reno. The diversity of flora in the marshes was much greater than in his own time; only the most resilient species had survived the increased pollution that permeated the air of the future. It was remarkable how far from the cities such pollutants could spread, something Reno had never before realised.

The atmosphere was eerie, with no sound but the gentle rippling of the murky green-grey water as the chocobo waded through the swamp, and the soft, yet slightly laboured breaths of Reno. Despite the unnaturally quiet surroundings, this was more welcome than the noise caused by a rapidly approaching Zolom. The swamp could be as creepy as it liked if the other option was a forty foot serpent trying to eat them.

They continued on, seemingly unnoticed for a while longer before a worryingly familiar sound pulled Reno from his semi-conscious reverie. The water rippled with more force, with small waves coming at them from the left, swelling forward as if pushed by an invisible force. They were disturbingly similar to the bow-waves created by a large ship surging through the ocean, and there was only one thing in the marshes powerful enough to create such waves.

Reno didn't even hesitate before pushing the chocobo into a run, trusting that the speed of the bird coupled with the few moments of a head-start would be enough to keep them ahead of the approaching Midgar Zolom. The chocobo needed little encouragement however, since it too had sensed the oncoming predator, and at the red-head's command it sprang forward, leaping into a run.

Each pounding step it took jarred its passenger, and each such jolt forced Reno to take a sharp intake of breath, so that within a few of the chocobo's long paces he was panting in time with the bird itself. Each shuddering breath made his mind feel light, barely holding on to consciousness, but he forced himself, knowing that the moment he blacked out, he would likely fall from the chocobo's back. And he had no more intention of being eaten by a Midgar Zolom than he'd had of being eaten by the dragon. Reno was not a snack-food.

He turned his head to look back over his shoulder, hoping to be able to see well enough through the fog to detect if the Zolom was still in pursuit. There was no chance of that happening, since the fog had remained thick. He could hear it though, even over the sound of the chocobo's steady breathing and the grunts of pain that accompanied his own ragged breaths. But it seemed to be falling back, outpaced by the chocobo.

Reno turned to face forward once again, leaning down to hold tightly to the feathers of the large bird's neck, clinging on for dear life and trying to force himself to stay conscious despite the agony that tore through his chest with each inhalation. With this torment of pain in his chest, even the chill in his bones and the exhaustion of his muscles was all but forgotten, although it was only through sheer determination that Reno could keep holding on to the chocobo as it bounded through the marsh.

His awareness dimmed, until it seemed as if the whole universe was made up solely of himself, the flaring pain with each breath he took, and the yellow bird beneath him. These were the only things that were immediately important in Reno's world; even the pursuit of the Midgar Zolom faded now into obscurity as the battle to remain conscious became the sole purpose of his current existence.

It took him a few moments to realise that the chocobo had slowed to a walk, and he shifted his position enough to see the ground below. And it was the ground; they were on the smooth grassland that was, or would be, the extended pastures of the chocobo ranch. It seemed the chocobo had outrun the Zolom and brought them at last to the land beyond the marshes and the mountains. From here, the rest of the journey was simple.

Allowing a soft sigh, and bringing the chocobo to a halt, Reno slid from the bird's back, intending to sit down to rest. His body needed a few moments on solid ground to recover from the dash through the swamp. As soon as his feet touched the grass, his legs gave out from under him, refusing to support his weight, and he let gravity take over, laying on his back in the long grass.

The chocobo warked softly, and looked down at him curiously, evidently somewhat intrigued by Reno's behaviour. It remained standing nearby, watching him intently and not so much as moving an inch. It clearly was a very well trained bird, and the Turk recognised the chocobo's evident loyalty for what it really was. Many chocobos in his time were trained to stay with their fallen rider so that he could climb back on without having to chase a runaway bird, or in the eventuality that he was injured, the colourful plumage of the chocobo would act as an effective beacon to the rider's location.

But it was nice to think the chocobo cared about him, for some reason. Perhaps because Reno knew that in this world, he was completely and totally isolated, without anyone to call 'friend', and so it was somewhat comforting to idly consider the large yellow bird a companion. It was better than thinking too deeply about how alone he was in this time, and it was definitely better to talk to a chocobo than talk to himself. The former was a sign of affection and camaderie, while the latter was indicative of insanity. Reno would rather appear very attached to a big yellow bird than be seen to be insane.

"What you looking at?" he asked the chocobo casually, turning his head to meet its gaze. He wasn't even entirely certain if the bird was a male or a female. He didn't fancy taking a look under its tail feathers to find out.

The chocobo continued to watch him, and responded to his question with a quiet warble. Reno guessed that while it may be a fairly intelligent bird, it merely reacted to the sound of his voice. It was somewhat like having a conversation though, especially to one with an imagination like Reno's. He imagined the chocobo's response had been along the lines of 'you'.

"Yeah, well, of course you're looking at me. We really shouldn't be sitting around here for too long though," Reno told it informatively, feeling a little irritated at the slurring of his voice, due to the fact that unconsciousness still beckoned to him, even though the pain had diminished somewhat now that his breathing was more relaxed. Lying in the wet grass wasn't helping him to feel any better though. 

"You know, you should have a name or something," he remarked to the chocobo, which answered him with a delicate wark, and a tilted head. "I can't really pronounce that though. How about... Butterfly?" he suggested after a moment of thought. The chocobo did seem to have more of a female attitude than a male one.

When the chocobo, now dubbed 'Butterfly', didn't object to the new name, Reno gestured to it, or possibly her. "Come here then. Help me up," he told it, although already suspecting the only word it would understand was 'come', which it would have been trained to respond to.

Obediently, Butterfly stepped closer to him, and Reno used the bird's wing to pull himself back up to his feet, noting how much stiffer his muscles were. All this exercise wasn't in the least bit good for him, not when the death magic had left him so drained and exhausted. He was pushing himself beyond his realistic limits, he knew that. But it wasn't as if he had a lot of choice. Getting to Midgar may well kill him, but as it stood, he would certainly die out here if he didn't get to Midgar. The city remained the best choice, despite the journey. 

And Reno was beginning to feel that his mind was losing coherency. He felt certain he'd already considered his options thoroughly enough before, and now he was repeating himself. This really wasn't a good sign, not at all. He couldn't remember for the moment just how far Midgar was from here, nor how long the journey would take him. He decided instead he would prefer to concentrate on a nice, warm, comfortable bed at the end of it, and some well-deserved rest. And some beer, to relax. And then, finally, going home. All he had to do was get to Midgar, and everything would be fine.

With the remainder of his energy focused on that one, singular goal, Reno forced his body to comply with his wishes, pulling himself once again onto the chocobo's back and nudging Butterfly into a slow, peaceful walk. This time though, he had to remain alert, so as to guide the bird in the direction he wished to go. In this wide, open grassland, it was up to him to choose their path, although he wasn't entirely sure that he knew which way they should be going.

At least now the fog was clearing, perhaps because the sun had finally risen high enough, or perhaps because it didn't settle well in lowland areas away from the mountains. With the eerie mist gradually thinning, it became easier to see around them, although visibility still wasn't quite clear enough to indicate in which direction they should be travelling. For this, Reno decided upon using the compass, reflecting idly that of all the things he'd stolen from Maggie, it had proved to be the most useful.

Unfortunately, gaining access to the compass required that he turn around so his hand could rummage in the bag secured to the back of the saddle. He should have got the compass before he mounted, he realised. His lack of ability to think things through before he did them was proving to be a distinct disadvantage out here. This was something he would have to change once this particular adventure was over. As soon as he got home, he was going to start planning things properly.

He slipped his hand into the backpack, and searched through the contents. He smiled slightly as he felt the dragon egg, which was pleasantly warm. Almost a shame that having the bag on Butterfly's saddle meant he couldn't feel that source of heat radiating gently against his back. After a moment, his fingers closed around the now familiar shape of the compass, and he withdrew it from the bag.

Now then, if he remembered correctly, going north from the swamps would bring him to the end of the mountain range, and between the mountains and the steep sides of a plateau to the north, there was a pass that lead west. This grassy passageway would take him to the farmland situated around Kalm, and from there it was a simple journey to the south-west, taking him directly to Midgar. It was a simple enough journey, and should, in theory, be impossible to get lost.

For the moment, all he had to do was travel north, and so it was this direction that he looked for, using his compass to identify the direction. Until the fog cleared completely, he intended to keep the compass readily at hand, just to make sure they didn't double back on themselves or become lost. By midday, when the fog should have completely dissipated, it should be possible to orientate entirely by sight, assuming of course that the landscape hadn't significantly changed from what Reno knew. If it had, then he could rely on the compass.

And so, feeling that he had absolutely nothing to worry about, Reno let himself relax a little, enjoying the peaceful ride on Butterfly's back. As peaceful as it could be when every breath he took felt like fire in his chest, every muscle in his body seemed ready to disintegrate with exhaustion, and his very bones were chilled to the core from the lingering effects of the death magic and spending the night out in the open. Physical condition aside, the Turk felt optimistic; he was well and truly on his way home!

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Disclaimer - In no way do I own Reno, something which very much disappoints me, because I'm really getting very attached to him. I also don't own chocobos, but this plot belongs to me, as do the various original characters used throughout the story.

Author's Notes - Looking back at the previous chapters, and particularly the author's notes, I realise that I promised Midgar in chapter seven. This is chapter eleven, and I have yet again failed to deliver. However, there turned out to be a lot more to the journey than I anticipated, and so the marshes did in fact have enough to become a chapter in themselves. 

I toyed with the idea of letting the Midgar Zolom actually catch up with Reno and Butterfly, but that would have been excessively cruel, even for me. So instead, we have plenty of introspective and character development, and it seems to be turning into a fairly longish chapter. I fully anticipate actually reaching Midgar next chapter, in fact, Phoenix has warned me that 'bad things' will happen if I don't get to Midgar next chapter...

I'm pleased to actually have this chapter done a day after the last chapter though, and I'd like to be updating more than I have been recently (about once a week). Assuming I can keep up the chapter quality that is. I don't seem to have made any horrific mistakes in this chapter, but you never know. Just ask WrexSoul about commas...

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	12. The Journey

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter Twelve - The Journey **

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As the sun rose higher into the sky, warming the chill air that flowed from the nearby mountains, the mist gradually dissipated, as Reno had expected it would. Even so, the air remained cold, blown about by a breeze that seemed almost wintery in the way it cut so effortlessly through his clothes, causing him to shiver almost uncontrollably despite the bright, yet watery sunshine. Glances towards the mountains from which he'd come revealed some snow on the highest peaks, and it was from this direction the wind came from.

On the whole, Reno was beginning to feel sick of being cold, hurt and tired. Injuries he could tolerate, on their own; he'd broken his ribs on more than one occasion, albeit never in a situation that didn't promise healing in the near future. Exhaustion, he could deal with, when encountered in isolation; this wouldn't be the first time he'd overstretched himself and burned out, and there had always been something oddly pleasant about resting after heavy exertion. He could even tolerate being cold, although he'd never particularly enjoyed it; the world beneath the Plates of Midgar had always remained a constant temperature, and any deviations from that often left Reno miserable. 

But the injuries, exhaustion and constant cold all stacked up to become a little more than the Turk really wanted to put up with. If it hadn't been for the fact that Butterfly's running gait paused him only increasing amounts of pain, he'd have increased the pace so as to end the journey more quickly. There were feelings he wasn't entirely accustomed too, longings to be in familiar, or at least more pleasant surroundings.

And this irritated him. It was with a dull sense of realisation that the thought occurred that he'd become entirely too acclimatised to the luxuries of life, something that had started years before when he'd joined Shinra and the Turks. There had been times, many, many years ago, when he'd been used to unsatisfactory conditions and the rougher edges of life. But Shinra, while teaching him how to fight, kill and survive, had taken away his tolerance of situations not going his way.

The Turks had never had to be concerned with even the smallest of inconveniences. If they didn't like something, it inevitably came down to shooting people until the problem was fixed, at least with the more extreme cases. Clearly killing the maintenance workers because the thermostat in the office was broken wasn't acceptable. Oddly enough, however, no one had raised any comments when it happened.

But that was the point, wasn't it? Nobody questioned a Turk, and nobody did anything that stood a chance of pissing one off. Not that Reno particularly believed in shooting people that upset him, or believed in not shooting people that upset him, for that matter. It was simply one of those facts of life. I'm a Turk, I have a gun, I call the shots.

So that lead Reno to the ultimate problem of being so used to having his own way all the time that this current scenario was getting on his already somewhat frayed nerves. There were certain limits to which even his laid-back attitude couldn't reach. He'd been thrown back in time, knocked unconscious by a can of beans, drugged, burned by materia during his escape, pestered by biting insects, shot with a crossbow, deafened by an alarm, killed by a dark dragon, forced to sleep outside in the freezing cold, and chased by a Midgar Zolom. On the whole, this caused even the most relaxed of people to begin to feel somewhat persecuted.

Of course, he easily recognised the fact that his increasingly despondent mood was caused solely by his injuries and exhaustion, and being so far from home for that matter, and so therefore reaching Midgar would fix all of these problems. Until then, he felt entitled to be rather depressed. Entitled, but not really able to achieve it to the fullest extent that he'd have liked to.

It was a long-standing philosophy of Reno's that he would never allow life to get on top of him, and a few moments of mental ranting seemed to ease his temper. His own experiences with life and, of course, his Turk training, left him largely in control of his emotions, although many believed otherwise. It was a trait common to all Turks, in some way or other, but Reno's approach had always been somewhat unique. 

Tseng, and especially Rude, had controlled their emotions by rejecting them or repressing them, at least the way the red-head's eyes viewed it. He, on the other hand, had simply decided that he was never going to be able to ignore his emotions and become stoic or controlled like his colleagues. Instead, he let himself feel the emotions, but forced the positive ones to overwhelm the negative ones.

In this manner, he could find some good in almost any situation. Take the current, for example, since it was the one that was foremost in his mind. He may be injured, tired, cold and so forth, but on the plus side, he was well on his way home. He also had the destruction of a dark dragon on his hands to show off about, something which Rude and Elena at least would find impressive. Hell, this entire adventure was going to be one seriously cool story to relate when he got home.

Reno's active imagination continued to consider the possibilities for a few moments, resulting in the rather absurd idea of a movie. As if anyone but his friends would care about this little excursion. It was amusing to think about, especially since his mind visualised the special effects that could be used for his glorious battle with the dragon, but ultimately, no one cared about the activities of a Turk.

He allowed a somewhat derisive snort, reflecting with a moment of arrogance that his adventure was far more interesting than anything Avalanche had done. Anyone could topple a world-dominating multi-national corporation, end the life of an insane, deranged, psychotic megalomaniac with delusions of godhood and prevent a huge chunk of rock colliding with the planet, thus destroying all living things on it. But very few had the intelligence and resources to survive time travel, journey as far as Reno had using solely his wits and kill a dark dragon, which the Turk privately believed had been way tougher than Sephiroth.

Definitely, Reno's achievements on this particular adventure were far more noteworthy than Strife's. When he got home, he'd make sure that anyone who would listen heard all about it, too. Of course, that meant only Rude and Elena, and they'd agree with him anyway, if only because they knew better than to disagree with him, at least on matters like this. But they would appreciate the skill involved in killing the dragon.

All the more reason to get home as quickly as possible, Reno decided, and drawing his attention back to the world around him, he realised how far north they had come in what seemed like a relatively short space of time. But with that said, the cold and the pain were slowing his thought processes somewhat, causing him to have difficulty concentrating for too long. At least his thoughts, slow as they had been, had provided him with a suitable distraction from the cause of his problems.

Maybe that was why he never managed to stay depressed for too long, no matter how dire the situation became; he was too easily distracted, his thoughts too content to run rampant around his mind and offering insights deep, strange, or just plain silly. Or sometimes all three at once. It definitely made it difficult to remain unhappy while his mind was ready to point out to him just how well he'd done so far.

Because he had pretty much kicked serious ass every step of the way thus far. Yeah, he was definitely better at this adventure thing than the likes of Strife. So what was there to get all upset about? It wasn't like he was going to die, not now anyway. He wasn't all that far away from Midgar, and was by nature far too stubborn to die on the easiest stretch of the journey so far.

With this in mind, he pulled Butterfly to a stop, receiving a curious wark in response. Reaching into his pocket for the compass, Reno checked their heading once again, knowing it was about time to head in a westerly direction. It didn't look it from this distance, but the mountains in that direction were coming to an end, and there would be the narrow pass through which they had to travel in order to reach the city. There were some distance away, however, having followed a directly north path, to save getting lost in the foothills at the base of the mountains. In the distance there was a soft haze, so he couldn't quite make out the line of the pass, but he knew it was there.

"Not far now," he commented to Butterfly, who gave an impatient pull at the reins. It seemed Reno wasn't the only one who wanted to get out of the wilderness as soon as possible. "I don't see why you're so impatient. I'm the one who's dying here."

The large bird answered this with another wark, and turned her head to regard Reno with one big blue eye.

"What, you don't believe me? That is just so like you! I could just collapse and die, and you'd keep on walking, wouldn't you?" the Turk asked, his voice indignant and filled with mock offense.

Again, Butterfly warbled at him, most likely more upset by his tone of voice than his actual words; the chances of her actually understanding were minimal.

"Aww, come on. You know I don't mean that. How about we get moving to Midgar, and then you can go home. Or come home with me," he suggested, nudging the yellow chocobo into a walk once again, this time in the direction of the distant mountain pass. The temptation to take Butterfly back into the future with him was quite strong; the effect of the isolation he'd experienced most of the way through his journey had left him feeling more than a little attached to this chocobo, who practically counted as a friend now. And it wasn't like Daverrison could do anything about it if Reno did steal the chocobo and disappear off into the distant future with her.

Now that just sounded weird, didn't it? Like he was eloping with his chocobo, or something. He let out a soft laugh as the thought occurred to him, combined with the odd image of him and Butterfly in the registry office at the Gold Saucer, him in a suit and her with a lacey veil.

It was quite obvious the pain was going to his head, because he really should not have been thinking of marrying his chocobo. That was just too bizarre, even for Reno. It was one of those things he could only think of when his mind was a little warped by exhaustion and injuries. He would never even consider marriage to a large yellow bird if it wasn't for the fact that he felt about to pass out every time he took even the most shallow of breaths.

Well, alright, maybe he'd joke about it, just to freak people out. That had always been amusing, and his prime reason for doing anything in the slightest bit strange. Sometimes it really was just fun to make people wonder about his sanity. Of course, considering he was wandering through the wilderness, talking to his chocobo, it did beg a few questions about mental stability. It was, on the whole, one of those roads he didn't particularly want to travel, since he might not like what he found at the end of the journey.

And wasn't that just wonderfully philosophical and such? All analogy and metaphor. He usually came out with stuff like that while under the influence of alcohol, or occasionally other things, for that matter. Perhaps pain and cold and exhaustion had its uses, assuming that thoughts like those were actually a good thing. He'd have to get back to that, when he wasn't half out of his own head.

That was a whole other line of thought there which he didn't even dare pursue, because there were some things that someone of his nature really shouldn't spend too much time considering. It was how a religion involving butterflies taking over the world had started, after all. His own strange trains of thought while in a fair amount of pain and only semi-conscious.

Reno let his thoughts lapse into a quiet daze as Butterfly walked onwards, soon entering the dark, narrow passage that lay between the mountains to the left and the rising plateau of rocks to the right. A little way along, if his memory was correct, there would be a path leading up to the top of the plateau, which would allow him to see for miles in all directions, should he choose to go that way. But there was no reason to do so, not when he was already as certain as he could be of his course.

The passage was shadowed, the cliffs rising to each side cutting out most of the sunshine, and so the breeze that blew through its winding, twisting lengths seemed to have an unnatural chill. Reno pulled his jacket more tightly around him, and leaned forward against Butterfly's broad, yellow feathered back, feeling the warmth radiating out from the large bird's form.

And once again his mind drifted as he slipped into a semi-conscious doze with his cheek pressed against the brilliant yellow feathers of Butterfly's back. This was a fairly inspired drifting of thoughts too, and he considered it one of his best. It was always said about travelling into the past that all efforts should be made to not accidentally kill one's own grandfather. But why not try to kill someone else's grandfather?

For example, just off the top of his head, perhaps a trip out to Nibelheim to find someone with the name Strife might be in order. No Grandfather Strife meant no Cloud Strife. He really should have thought of that earlier. He could take the effort to kill off a few others, too. Wallace's father, if he remembered the ages correctly, Highwind's father too. While he was in Nibelheim he could check out the Lockhart family line. Valentine's father, or possibly even Valentine himself, depending on how far back he'd actually come. Quite possibly the red canine thing had already be born too, although Reno wasn't completely sure of this. Removing the current Lord Kisaragi would be a little more of a challenge, though. Reeve's family could live though, because Reno didn't hold anything personally against the executive, despite his traitorous actions.

Yeah, that was a great idea. No Avalanche meant that Shinra would still exist, and he'd still have a proper job. Well, assuming Sephiroth didn't destroy the world. But the Turks could take out that nutcase, in theory. Or they'd die trying and not be around to see the world destroyed. It beat working in a supermarket, right?

Alright, probably not. The Turk had to admit that without Avalanche the world probably would have been destroyed, and everyone dead. But that didn't excuse them from losing Reno's job by destroying Shinra. Technically speaking, if he didn't kill their grandparents while he was here, they would owe him a favour. He'd have to chase that up when he got home, although he doubted any of them would appreciate the humour of it.

Simply wandering over to Strife at his villa in Costa Del Sol, or wherever he'd gone, and telling him that during a brief adventure into the past he'd decided against murdering said hero's grandfather probably wouldn't get him much beyond stabbed with an oversized butcher knife. Reno very much doubted any of them would see the funny side. That was the trouble with heroes; absolutely no sense of humour.

All in all, the concept of killing Strife's grandfather was a nice one to consider, but like the concept of a movie about his adventures out here, completely unfeasible. On the other hand, he could destroy Avalanche's family, but if he also killed Hojo's parents, that might prove effective. That would result in no Avalanche and no Sephiroth, which would therefore lead to a much happier world back in the future.

Happier for the likes of Reno, at least. The ones who'd benefited from Shinra's dominion over the world. Yes, on the whole this seemed like a good option. Deal with all the problems of the world before they actually arose in the first place, albeit at the risk of leaving the potential for far worse to happen.

With that said, what could possibly be worse than the combined effects of Avalanche and Sephiroth? Very little, even as far as Reno's highly active imagination would stretch. It was practically his duty to follow up on these ideas, therefore. He'd have to take care not to kill anyone else though, in case he accidentally prevented someone good from being born. Like, for example, the ancestors of Tseng, Rude or Elena.

But, what if he was meant to kill someone here? It could be that his journey back through time had been fated, and so it might be part of his purpose to destroy someone, if only by accident. There might be some insane demented maniac in the future that wandered the world killing butterflies, someone who would never exist because Reno prevented his birth by slaughtering his grandfather.

It was the kind of paradox he could continue thinking around in his head for hours, and when he finally pulled himself from his semi-conscious state to check his location, he realised that perhaps he had in fact been considering the concept for some time. They had passed beyond the narrow passage between the mountains and the plateau, and were now travelling west through the plains to the south of Kalm, or the place the village was located in his time, at least. It was possible it didn't exist here, as Reno's memories suggested that the small town had been founded to act as overflow for a surging population of Midgar. 

It was within easy commuting distance, after all, and had it not been for the fact that Reno had been unable to even consider not living in the city, he might have considered living in Kalm himself. A few of the richer executives had chosen to do so, and they were the ones who were benefiting now that Midgar had been destroyed; their homes and belongings had remained safe away from the city, after all. Everyone still hated them for their association with Shinra, but at least they had a nice house to hide in.

Reno forced himself to sit up, turning his gaze around the nearby landscape, and then altering Butterfly's course towards the southwest. Hopefully they would come across Midgar without too much trouble, or at least find a road that would lead them to the city. The last thing he wanted was to be wandering aimlessly around terrain that was both familiar and undeniably foreign, especially while injured as he was. If he fell off Butterfly's back, it didn't seem likely he'd be able to climb back on again, and if he lost consciousness, it was entirely possible that he wouldn't wake up.

Semi-conscious dozing didn't count as being unconscious, as he was still vaguely aware of his surroundings in that state, if not in much condition to actually respond to them. Awareness was the key factor here. The ability to remain attentive to the world around him meant that he'd realise when he reached the city. Unconscious people generally didn't have a clue where they were, or where they were going.

Awareness aside, it was still a few moments before Reno actually realised when Butterfly had stopped walking, her soft warks drawing him only very slowly from his dozing state. He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus enough so he could identify the reason for the chocobo's halt. The reason, he recognised after a moment of staring, was that they had reached a road. This was good, because roads lead somewhere, always.

It had been an old saying that all roads lead to Midgar, and assuming this was correct, following this road would take him to his destination without difficulty. A few moments of consultation with the compass, and Reno turned Butterfly in the direction that undoubtedly lead to Midgar. 

"Keeping walking this way, until you can't go any further," he told the chocobo, before nudging her once more into a gentle walk. Reno couldn't help but feel a brief spark of elation, as much as he could find energy to achieve; he was nearly home! Everything would be fine as soon as he got to Midgar, and he guessed there couldn't be much more than a few hours left to his journey.

It was these thoughts that plagued his mind as Butterfly walked, although it was a plague Reno couldn't help but enjoy. Having his mind drawn to a pleasing subject, and one that was fully feasible, was a nice change from the wild ideas and the marginally depressing thoughts that had dominated his mind until now. And so, when a few hours of steady walking later, the pair came within sight of Midgar, the young man's optimism surged, and he gave Butterfly's neck an affectionate pat.

"Not long now, Butterfly. Onward to Midgar!"

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Disclaimer - Reno and all concepts of Final Fantasy VII don't belong to me, but to Square. The plot, however, is mine. Mwahahaha!

Author's Notes - Well, I promised we'd get to Midgar, and I have delivered. I never said we'd actually go inside, or do anything. So therefore none of Phoenix's 'bad things' are allowed to happen to me. Actually, I couldn't resist doing this, so I had to force the chapter to cover the entire journey from the marshes to Midgar, and it was incredibly difficult to write at first. The latter parts of the chapter were easier though, and so reaching something near my usual chapter length wasn't too difficult. Chapter length is important, like commas are important.

Next chapter will, of course, actually take us inside Midgar. Unfortunately, this is one of the few blank spots I have remaining in the grand scheme of the entire story, so things may be a little random for the next few chapters until I figure out just how I'm getting from here to the next significant event for the story. Of course, no one gets to know what the significant event is, unless Phoenix happens to remember from my original summary of my plans.

WrexSoul: Again, I hope there's no horrific grammar errors in here. Last chapter actually had Word's grammar check doing some work, although it didn't flag up very much. So I've written it off as useless, not to mention annoying, and haven't used it this chapter. There's probably some commas in here that need to die, though... I was on schedule for updates, very briefly, but that kinda died again. I had hoped to get a lot done this week, too, since I'm having a week off from work.

Sabriel: Wow, many reviews. It brought me such joy, receiving all those practically all at once. I did toy with having Reno avoid the fight with the dragon, but I figured it wouldn't be in character for him, and I also had so many plans for that fight. Although sorta killing Reno wasn't one of them. It was an accident, hence 'ooops'. For Daverrison, just consider the fact that he's an honest guy, and Reno's lied to him at least twice about his name... Even the thought of fangirls sends shivers up my spine, however, especially in relation to Reno snack foods. You're going to give me nightmares now.

Tijuana Pirate: I have the dream stuff all completely planned out now, as well as the whole plotline. I had some blank places before, but I had a sudden spark of inspiration, and now I know exactly where everything is going to lead. However, I will never tell! As always my plans remain my own. I somehow doubt this chapter turned out as interesting as you predicted however. Next chapter, the inside of Midgar, should be better.

RaisingHavok & Lady Spork: Thank you both for the reviews, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

Long author's notes, by the look of it. That's gonna be doing something to the word count, isn't it? Not that I'm obsessing over word counts or anything... Anyway, onwards to chapter thirteen! And I originally thought I might have the entire story done in ten chapters... I haven't even begun to make Reno miserable yet! Ooops, did I say that out loud?

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	13. The Innate Generosity Of Mankind

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

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**Chapter Thirteen - The Innate Generosity Of Mankind**

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It wasn't quite the industrial city that he'd grown up in, not by a long shot. There certainly were the beginnings of industry, though, whole areas of the broad, sprawling settlement made up entirely of factories and manufacturing buildings, and where the rest of the world he'd seen so far seemed comparatively rather medieval, here there were hints of recognisable technology. There was the occasional car, or at least what he guessed to be cars. They were large and ugly and smelled strongly of a fuel Reno didn't recognise. Certainly not the sleek, Mako powered, Shinra produced vehicles of his time.

The air felt thick and heavy, clogged with the black smoke that issued from the scant vehicles, and further smoke from the factories. Reno couldn't quite decide if this was better or worse than the Mako pollution; this was much heavier, in such a manner that it felt like it was settling in his lungs in an almost choking manner, whereas the gases ejected from the Reactors had been more inclined to cause random mutation and Mako poisoning. He'd have preferred that to this feeling of slowly choking to death.

But then, perhaps it was the fact that his chest hurt so much already, and the pollution of the city only made his laboured breathing that much more difficult. He really hadn't expected Midgar to be like this, though. He couldn't have said what he had expected, but this boiling centre of blossoming industry hadn't been it. It was for the better, he realised, since a city with some evidence of technology would be better suited to getting him home than a larger version of Darton.

It still hadn't entered his mind at all that, even though he was here now, finding a way back into the future wasn't going to be a simple task. He'd concentrated only on reaching the city, knowing that when he got there he would be able to go home. And he still would. He'd just have to get some help first. Preferably before he fell off Butterfly's back, for example.

The street was fairly busy, with numerous people moving back and forth, and so Reno stopped one, looking down at the man from where he remained on Butterfly's back. "Which way to the hospital?" he asked simply, trusting in the fact that the man he'd stopped wouldn't ask too many questions, or cause him any more trouble than was absolutely necessary.

The man seemed to hesitate for a few moments, taking in the entirety of the Turk's appearance, before indicating a few simple directions through the city to the nearest hospital. Evidently Reno looked the part of someone who should be receiving some help. He definitely felt the part, for that matter, and so with a nod of thanks to the man, he set Butterfly walking once more, following the directions the man had given.

Where Midgar of the future, his time, was largely built in a grid manner, an efficient design of Reeve's, the city now was a sprawling mass of twisting roads and narrow alleys, somewhat reminiscent of the Slums below the plates. But then, it was this city that would one day become the Slums, with the true city of Midgar suspended above. The layout was chaotic to say the least, and disorganised. He couldn't help but be reminded of his old home though, and feel a little nostalgic for his life in the huge city.

Before too long, they reached a large, sprawling building that could only be the hospital of Midgar, a broad entranceway through which emergency cases could be rushed through quickly, and off to one side, an expansive lobby and reception area. And then spreading out to the left and right were the wings of the hospital, the various departments for whatever medical condition could possibly occur.

It occurred to Reno that the technology of this time would be far less than that of the world he knew, simply due to the vast funds Shinra had buried its science department in. While much of that money had gone into research into the Lifestream, and Jenova, more than enough had been spared for medical research, if only to keep the company's top employees in good condition. Turks and SOLDIERs had a habit of obtaining some very severe injuries that even materia proved ineffective against.

But, with that much considered, he knew there were some techniques that had been lost in the mists of time, since materia and magical potions had become much easier, and so to a certain extent, the doctors here would have access to some information that those of Reno's own time wouldn't. All in all, he would rather have been in the hands of a well-trained Shinra doctor, in the Turks' private wing of the Shinra funded hospital, than at the mercy of old time physicians who lacked the knowledge of the effects Mako had on the body.

There certainly was an element of risk here; there were certain drugs that reacted badly with Mako, and so had the potential to kill an unlucky SOLDIER. Or Turk, for that matter. He'd have to explain this to the doctors, although perhaps simply giving the excuse of being allergic would make matters simpler, since that was something they could understand. 

Now all he had to do was go inside and get some attention. That was something Reno had absolutely no problem in achieving, however; he was a master at getting attention when he put his mind to it, and had a true flair for the dramatic. It was an odd contrast really, since he could happily slink about in the shadows, completely inconspicuous, if he had need to. It was all a matter of choice, ultimately. If he wanted to be noticed, he would be, and if he didn't, then he would make sure no one would notice him. And that was true skill, he knew that for a certainty.

Gathering what remained of his strength, he dropped unsteadily from Butterfly's back, and stood by her side on legs that threatened to collapse beneath him. He pulled her reins over her head, securing them to the rail outside the building, and then gave her a solid look. "Behave yourself now, and I'll get someone to take you to a stables. Okay?" he asked, waiting for a responsive wark from the large yellow bird.

Upon receiving this affirmative warble, he nodded, and walked into the hospital, keeping himself on his feet by pure strength of will alone, since his muscles had lost their physical strength some time before. He simply pushed the door open and walked in, looking more than a little unsteady, and certainly feeling it. He was careful to be completely understated in the matter, as if trying not to draw attention to himself. He knew well enough that the best way to be noticed in such a situation was to not make a fuss of his injuries. Anyone well enough to complain loudly about their injuries was very rarely seriously hurt. It was the quiet and lethargic ones that had to be watched for, the ones who had dropped beyond their limits and were unable now to complain.

Of course, Reno hardly had to pretend, since it was pretty much the truth. He was far too tired to be loud and attract attention by demanding it in a strong tone of voice. Instead, the quiet and lethargic method appealed much more to him, and it would be more effective anyway. Already, as he walked across the lobby to the front desk, several other people waiting nearby stepped away to give him room, and watched him with both curiousity and concern. Yes, Reno of the Turks was the master at getting attention in the most subtle method available.

He came to the reception desk, and leaned tiredly against the high counter, giving the girl on the phone a very placid, patient look, while also looking as if he were about to lose consciousness. It wasn't far off the truth, admittedly. She didn't notice him at first, but then moment her gaze happened to fall on him, she gave a hurried 'good bye' to the person on the other end of the phone, and then turned her entire attention to him. "Sir, are you alright?" she asked him.

Reno nodded, knowing exactly how to play this to its fullest advantage. Even if he really was about to collapse, he'd rather not actually do so, and so forced himself to keep his head. Not that he would have any trouble getting any help here, but it was the principle of the thing. He was going to maintain his consciousness, and stability of mind, no matter how tired or cold he was, and how much pain he felt. No more thoughts of marrying chocobos, for example, and now bending these people to his will would require some cohesive thought. He hated spending time in hospital, and the best way to survive it was to make the various females around the building want to help him and make his stay more pleasant.

"I'm alright," he said quietly, and it was clear enough from his tone of voice that he wasn't. "I'd appreciate somewhere to sit though..." he added after a moment, still leaning heavily against the counter, as if moving away from it would cause him to fall over. It probably would, actually.

As soon as he said it, several of the people sitting in nearby chairs stood up, motioning for him to sit, and even offering to help him move to the chairs from the counter. It was amazing how nice people were willing to be, although Reno recognised immediately that as in Darton and Junon, the people of this time were intrinsically better, less caught up so entirely in their own welfare, and willing to assist anyone who really seemed to need help. 

These people were genuinely unselfish, and someone other than Reno might have felt some guilt for manipulating such trusting individuals. Never Reno though; he'd learned his lessons the hard way, and a lifetime of looking out solely for his own needs at the expense of others would certainly not be overwritten by the kind acts of a few. But by the nature of his manipulative behaviour, he could always act as if he were one of them, as if he were as trusting and kind as them.

He allowed himself to be helped over to the chair, and sat down gratefully, and murmuring soft thanks to those who had helped him. When he shivered, the combination of the exhaustion and deep chill in him that had only intensified now that he was inside the building and out of the sunlight, he felt a jacket draped over his shoulders almost immediately, and barely a few moments later a mug of steaming hot chocolate was pressed into his hands. Both of these he accepted willingly, and again he thanked the people around him.

Reno did have to enjoy this treatment, and he couldn't have denied otherwise. He always had loved to be the centre of attention, and while he generally hated pity, it wasn't that these people held true pity for him; it was the concern of a society that was used to looking out for every member, regardless of who they were. And this came as a rather stark contrast to the future the Turk knew so well, where no one was inclined to help anyone unless there was something in it for them, and they certainly wouldn't have helped him. The form of the red-haired Turk was far too familiar, and far too hated, to ever receive this kind of attention at home. 

He reflected idly that he might have been an entirely different person if he'd experienced this kind of care all of his life, and would have the ability to be more genuinely grateful for it. While he did hold some gratitude for the assistance he was receiving, it was more a case of the fact that he had successfully manipulated them to get his way, and was now enjoying the attention. His thanks were simply expressions to let them think he was indebted to them. His gratitude was because they had conceded to his wishes and noticed him when he wished to be noticed, rather than because they were helping him.

While this was going on, the girl behind the counter had called for a doctor, who walked quickly into the lobby and took in the scene immediately with quick, intelligent grey eyes. He approached Reno, able to identify him as the man the receptionist had called about; there was no mistaking an obviously severely injured young man with vibrant red hair and glowing eyes, currently wrapped in a large jacket that clearly belonged to someone of a much larger frame, and receiving assistance to sip slowly from a mug of warm fluid. "Hello, young man. It seems you would benefit from some medical attention."

Reno nodded slowly, regarding the doctor carefully. "Yes, but I can wait. You must have other patients..." he spoke softly. That was proof enough that he could behave as if he truly were one of these people, and by remaining unselfish, he knew he would ensure almost immediate treatment. That was how people like this operated, after all.

"Oh, no, you need help now," the doctor said, and then nodding to a man standing nearby, the two helped Reno to his feet and lead him to the nearest examination room, shadowed by a nurse. The man left the room again the moment the Turk was settled sitting on the table, and the doctor almost immediately began studying him, probing his injuries, taking readings, and asking questions. These questions were fairly direct, starting with his name and age, which he felt far too tired to lie about this time, and going on to how he'd got into this state, which Reno answered simply and honestly.

"Death magic, you say?" the doctor asked, more than a little skeptical on the matter. Evidently he wasn't one to simply believe any stories like that, but then, this young man was an unusual one, if only for the glowing eyes.

"Yeah... shouldn't have survived it, but I got lucky..." Reno replied. "Think I might have died for a few moments, but I'm not sure..."

"Well, it would seem most likely that you're in shock, and you've definitely been outside for far too long. Taking on a dark dragon by yourself, too. Very silly, young man," the doctor murmured as he helped the Turk to remove the shirt and two jackets he was wearing, in order to look more closely at the wounds to his chest.

Reno couldn't help but shiver as the cool air of the room reached his skin, although it was the gentle, trembling shiver of muscles that really were too tired to maintain such movement for any length of time. Glancing down, he noticed how pale his skin looked, even more so than its usual light shade. Even time spent in Costa Del Sol had always failed to darken his naturally pale complexion. However, around the claw marks across his chest the skin was reddened and a little swollen, and along the side that had impacted with the stalagmite in the cavern there were dark purplish bruises, showing vividly against the unusually pale skin.

The doctor tched softly in the back of his throat, and encouraged Reno to lay down on the bed, while the nurse fluttered around him, testing his blood pressure, temperature, taking a small blood sample, and eventually preparing his arm to inject him with... something. The Turk wasn't entirely sure, but already his consciousness was slipping, the control he'd enforced on himself to stay awake this long now degrading and allowing him to rest. He managed to murmur a few words, enough to indicate the drugs he knew he was 'allergic' to; the ones that would react badly with the Mako in his system. And from there, he would simply have to trust these people not to do anything nasty to him.

But that was the nature of this society, wasn't it? They wouldn't dream of doing anything but the best they could, simply because he needed help and there was no reason not to give the aid required to save his life. It wasn't in Reno's nature to trust such people though; from his experience anyone who was overtly nice and helpful was inevitably up to something. He'd never truly believed the innocence of the Ancient, Aeris, simply because no one who lived a childhood in the Slums could be innocent like that. No one could be intrinsically nice; something like that simply was too good to be true.

And yet, he remembered a time that seemed so long ago now, when after his first encounter with AVALANCHE, he'd leapt from the collapsing Sector Seven pillar and into the helicopter waiting just below. He remembered collapsing on the floor there, listening through a semi-conscious daze as Tseng spoke what were supposed to be the last words to the terrorist group, and how as the helicopter fled the destruction, the Ancient had knelt by Reno's side...

* * *

In the blaze of pain that surged through his body, the gentle touch of the young woman's hand was almost lost as it carefully brushed the locks of hair out of his eyes, before trailing softly down his cheek, pausing for a moment over the thin scars that cut across his high cheekbones. When the hand had pulled away, he cast his gaze upwards, meeting her eyes for a moment, and then focusing on her moving lips. 

The words she spoke he didn't recognise; they were of a language he had never heard before, but he could tell, dimly, that it was a very old language, smooth and flowing over vowel intensive syllables like a slowly moving river. It was a beautiful tongue, perhaps made more so by the voice of the woman herself, which was light, and innocent. Too innocent, considering where she had come from, but to the eyes of Reno, blurred with pain, she seemed to take on a somewhat angelic appearance. If he'd been in a better state than this, he would have laughed at the mere idea.

As it was, he was in no condition to do anything but lie there in a rapidly increasing pool of his own blood, every single second that elapsed seeming to stretch into an eternity of agonising pain. And then a soft wind swirled around him, the white lights that accompanied it bathing him in a relaxing glow. When the magic dissipated, so did the pain, at least a little. The spell, whatever it had been, since he didn't recognise it as a regular healing spell, was far from strong enough to take away even most of his pain.

But it had been enough to keep him alive long enough for the helicopter reached the Shinra Building, and the help that awaited him there. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was those large, innocent green eyes looking at him with an expression he'd never seen before. It wasn't hate, or contempt, or fear, or even pity. It was compassion, pure and simple.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno, unfortunately, isn't mine. Neither is anything else Final Fantasy VII related I've used here. The plot is mine, however.

Author's Notes - Well, I wasn't intending this chapter to end like this, but it really wanted to, so I had to comply. It seems to work, though, and while the flashback wasn't entirely necessary, again it seemed to fit, so I put it in. And we do in fact have Midgar this chapter. It only took me thirteen chapters to achieve it.

And it's not that I'm aiming to make Reno miserable, it's just that by the nature of the whole storyline I have in mind, it's bound to happen. I have many things planned, and would you believe I haven't actually reached the section of the story which was my original central purpose for the story? Lets say there's multiple purposes now, and I wonder how many more will accidentally get added in as I continue to write.

I will, of course, try not to be so long with the next chapter...

* * *


	14. Well Earned Rest

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen - Well-Earned Rest**

* * *

Around him shone silver and brilliant white, the clean walls reflecting the light in a manner that seemed almost holy, something that to him seemed more than a little unnatural, although for the time being he simply accepted it. The scene was, of course, familiar enough, since he knew well the kind of setting a hospital set, and even the shining light around him couldn't disguise that. The sparkling, sterile corridors that stretched away both before and behind him were deserted however, no movement whatsoever. 

He could, however, hear the typical sounds he associated with such a place; the rhythmic beeping of life support machines, the low speech of doctors that seemed to him more a gentle humming as thousands of words mingled together, creating the overall impression of speech but revealing to him no information. There were other noises too, the rattling of wheels as beds were rolled down distant corridors, the murmurs of pained patients, and on it went to form a solid background clamour that nevertheless seemed not to touch the empty passage where he stood.

He chose to ignore it, and began walking down the desolate corridor, feeling somewhat like a dark blot in the midst of all this shining brightness. The passage appeared to lead somewhere particular, maintaining a perfectly straight course, but also seeming to bend and curve in a manner that was truly disconcerting. Looking into the distance, he could clearly see the corridor curving away to the left, and yet as he walked the path continued straight on.

On and on it went, perfectly and completely straight, regardless of the direction it seemed to twist in the distance; to the left or right, up or down, or a combination of directions. On one occasion, the corridor appeared even to turn a corkscrew, and yet as he walked the path it remained level and even. It was, to say the least, a little worrying, although perhaps less so than the concern about the length of this seemingly eternal hallway. Despite the beautiful light glowing around him, he almost felt that the word 'ominous' was appropriate, although he wasn't entirely certain why.

Soon enough, however, the corridor lead into an open space, a shining imitation of the hospital's lobby, but like the passageway, it too was deserted, or at least it was at a first look. After a moment he saw the room's only inhabitant, a little girl sitting on her own, playing with a doll. The girl was young, perhaps four or five, with light golden hair that fell about her shoulders in delicate ringlets, and intense, but beautiful, blue eyes. She seemed engrossed in her game with the doll, and so it was several moments before she happened to look up and turn her ethereal azure gaze towards him.

"You still don't understand. Go outside, and see," she told him, and then turned her attention once more to the doll she held cradled in her lap, caring for it as a mother would a young baby.

He frowned, confused even about what it was he was supposed to understand, and with the utmost optimism for some kind of explanation, he padded towards the broad doorway, watching as the crystal clear glass doors slid aside to allow him to pass.

The world outside the glowing hospital was much darker, although the immediate area was still bright and clean. It was further into the distance, where dark clouds hung low against the jagged city horizon, thunder rolling ominously in the air. There was a red glow from that direction also, highlighting the rectangular shapes of the buildings, and radiating a subtle evil and darkness that he couldn't quite define beyond the most basic of instincts. A crack of red lightning shot across the sky, and the shadows seemed to enhance, creeping closer towards the brilliant silver building from which he'd come. It was followed barely a moment later by the eerie rumble, indicating the dark storm on the horizon was approaching; slowly, but nevertheless it was coming.

He retreated into the hospital once more, and looked towards the girl, who paid no heed to his return. She was humming softly to herself, rocking the doll gently in her arms. Even as he watched her, a familiar shape fluttered towards her, hovering for a moment in front of her. She looked up, and smiled at the silver and purple butterfly, before turning her gaze to him.

"You still don't understand, do you? It's all in your mind, waiting for you to realise it, but you won't. We can show you the way, but you have to walk the path yourself. Before it's too late. You have to understand," she told him, her soft voice sounding strange as she spoke so intensely.

What was he supposed to understand?

The words formed in his mind, and for now he didn't need to speak them aloud. The thought was enough to convey his meaning across, and enough to cause the girl to frown in confusion, and look questioningly towards the butterfly. The fluttering silver form remained in front of her for a moment, before disappearing into a small wisp of silver smoke that rapidly diminished in the glow of the lobby.

In response to this, the girl looked over towards him, and gave him a pleasant smile, before shrugging and disappearing as well, leaving him standing alone in the midst of his own confusion. There seemed to be an expectation of him, but for what he couldn't fathom. It was perfectly correct that he didn't understand, but he felt almost that these cryptic messages would help him none at all.

* * *

The sounds that had filled his hearing in the shining silver hospital intensified, and cleared, allowing him to discern individual sounds from the background clamour that he'd practically ignored up until now. But now the sounds seemed louder, and more insistent, surrounding him from all sides, and seeming to close in on him, echoing through the darkness around him. 

It was almost irritating, being in such a loud environment when he really wished quiet to think, and to rest, too. It was with dull realisation that he felt the exhaustion of his own body, muscles strained to the breaking point where they complained weakly at the slightest movement, the slightest bit of tension brought about by his response to the sound around him. He could think of only one thing to say to this, and he voiced it in a gentle groan.

Opening his eyes seemed a little too much work for him, his eyelids feeling heavy and tired, and a return to sleep, regardless of the dream sequences he experienced, felt like the most sensible course of action. He lay on his back, however, a position he rarely found comfortable for sleeping, and so he forced his aching body to move enough to let him roll over onto one side.

The sudden pain of that movement jerked him more fully awake, realising that the pressure on his injured chest was too great for him to lie on his side, and something had also pulled at his arm as he moved. Forcing his eyes open, he soon identified it as the drip that had been attached to him. He knew the purpose of these were multiple; to keep him from dehydrating, and to keep a constant supply of various drugs travelling slowly into his system. These probably included antibiotics, painkillers, and likely some anesthesia, judging by how tired he felt now.

With the realisation that moving hurt a bit more than was strictly tolerable, he lay still, letting his eyes do all the moving necessary to take in his situation. He was, most definitely, in the hospital, although fortunately he'd been given his own room. That wasn't common for medical centres of his time, simply because of the lack of funds. Only the richest people, or the most valuable in the case of the Turks, had access to private rooms. But it seemed far more effort was put into the hospitals of this time; they actually cared about people here.

Talking of which, there should be someone around to pay lots of attention to him, seeing as he was the seriously injured guy that had wandered in off the streets. He cast his gaze around by the sides of the bed, searching for the call button he knew had to be around somewhere, and when he found it, he gave the button one gentle tap, just enough to alert whoever was on the other end that he was awake and would like some company.

Almost as if she'd been waiting right outside the grey metal door, a nurse entered almost immediately, bouncing in her step, and smiling at him in a warm, amiable manner, so that he couldn't help but smile back. She approached the bed, and studied the clip-board attached to the end. "Well, Mr. Fletcher, it seems you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Tired, still... how long was I out?" Reno asked, only just remembering that he had in fact given them his true name, simply because he hadn't been in any state to lie convincingly.

"Five days, and you were in surgery for three hours," the nurse replied as she began checking him over. "I would say you need more rest, but I suspect you'd rather eat something first?" she asked him, once again flashing him a warm smile.

"Yeah, that would be great," Reno replied, although he couldn't help but wonder what the food here was like. Typically hospital food was worse than disgusting, and so he usually refused to eat it. There had been a couple of times, during longs terms in hospital while serious injuries healed, that he'd very nearly starved to death, before Tseng and Rude had given in and brought him real food. The red-head's ability to be stubborn was endless, when he chose to be, which was, of course, part of the reason why he was so used to getting his way all the time.

But chances were, food here would, at the very least, be edible; after all, these were nice people. Nice people made nice food, and wouldn't make him eat something that tasted worse than Mako waste from the Reactors, and probably less nutritious. Of course, Reno had, on one occasion in response to a dare, actually eaten Mako. Or drank it, as the case may be, although it wasn't quite either. It had been rather gelatinous by the time he'd got to it. And so, of anyone in the world, he was the most qualified to compare hospital food to Mako.

The nurse nodded, and retreated from the room, returning a few moments later with another woman pushing a heavy service trolley which, in theory, contained the food, and likely something more interesting than water to drink. He very much doubted that beer would be an option, but then he wasn't quite in the mood for alcohol anyway. That was the problem with being injured; it was something of a mood killer for him, and it took all the joy out of drinking.

Still, the contents of the trolley actually smelled pretty good, and the woman pushing it offered him a choice of several different meals. He really could get used to service like this, he reflected as he cautiously dipped a bread roll into the soup he'd decided he felt like eating. He knew from experience that after several days of not eating, his digestive system handled tamer meals more readily than those of a more interesting nature, and it was almost worrying that he'd been through enough occasions of this happening to know his own stomach so well.

As he'd expected, he discovered the food to be rather nice. Not delicious, but pleasant enough in an almost home-made manner. This was likely due to the lack of apparently nutritious additives, chemicals and preservatives he was used to receiving in practically every meal he ate, and so by comparison this thick soup had an almost wholesome, healthy taste to it.

Unfortunately, things like this wouldn't last long into the future, if the smoggy air outside the building was any indication. It was the beginning of the fall of Midgar, something that would take a slow, spiraling decline into decay over the next forty or fifty years. In time, none of the selflessness and intrinsic goodness of humanity would remain, or at least very little. Someone more compassionate than Reno might have considered this a bad thing, and something to be mourned, but the Turk himself merely accepted it as a fact of life. It wasn't in his nature to let such things touch him, even if his mind did linger over the possibilities for a while.

It was the nurse that returned his thoughts to the world outside the confines of his own head as she moved a chair in order to sit down on it, watching him with a smile and a curious look. A slight nod from Reno was all she needed to start talking, and she immediately posed the question of, "Who are you? Not your name, but who you are?"

"In what way?" he asked her between mouthfuls of his meal, being careful to eat in as polite a manner as he knew how, since the people of this time seemed to hold so much respect for civil and toned down behaviour. Reno might have found this stressful, but he was well used to covering his natural urges with actions that were significantly calmer and more controlled. Pretending to be someone he wasn't was almost a way of life, in the grand scheme of things, but that was a whole other train of thought.

"Well, you have those beautiful eyes, and you said you can do magic. Where are you from?" the nurse asked, elaborating on her original question. "And you told us when you arrived that you were travelling to Midgar. What's your purpose here?"

"I'm from Mideel, and as for why I'm here... I guess I could say it's on my way home," Reno replied, choosing his words very carefully. He was beginning to think that if he was going to be in the city for any length of time, he'd have to get his story, and his name, straight, in order to remain consistent. Multiple layers of lies would soon come back to bite him, metaphorically speaking.

"Not a very direct route, Darton to Midgar to Mideel," the nurse pointed out; evidently she had at least some knowledge of where in the world Mideel lay, and so understood that Reno's journey was very far off being a direct course towards the southern town.

"Well, I have to get some information here, although now I'm here, I don't know if I've come to the right place. Maybe you could help me with that?" Reno asked, flashing the young woman a questioning look, and a friendly smile. The kind of smile he usually used when picking up a girl in a bar; careful words and a charming smile were nearly always enough to get him what he wanted, at least from the female half of humanity.

"Oh, of course I'll help. What information are you looking for?" the nurse asked him, once again smiling at him. Reno couldn't help but wonder how much more difficult life would be if he weren't so great at making sure people gave him what he wanted. It would hardly be worth living to be someone who couldn't handle social interaction and be capable of subtly manipulating people. It was that much easier with the society of this time too, so innately trusting as they were.

"I need to find someone who knows about the Planet. You know the Planet's sort of alive, don't you? I need some information about that, and I figured that Midgar's big enough to have experts on every subject," the Turk replied, although he realised that it was entirely possible that no one here knew yet that the Planet was a living being in its own right.

"You were right, for the most part, but I've never heard of the Planet being alive before. Maybe it's one of those new sciences that everyone's talking about now. There's so many people looking at new ways of thinking, and it's almost rather worrying how everything's changing around here," she told him, and her tone of voice dropped a little, as if she didn't like speaking of the matter, but knew well enough that things were going downhill.

"You mean it used to be better than this here?" he asked carefully.

To this she gave an affirmative nod. "It's all this technology we're getting, and having so many big companies around. It's destroying the wonderful society we had a few years ago."

"And there I was thinking how nice it is here compared to what I'm used to," Reno replied, giving the girl another smile.

"I suppose you're right. I've heard a lot of stories about the people in Mideel," the nurse said with an understanding tone of voice.

He found himself wondering what these stories actually entailed, as he knew from more than enough experience that 'hearing stories' very rarely amounted to anything more than rumours dispersed by a very small minority. But then, his views were coloured by the nature of society in his own time, and he could recognise without any difficulty that this place was vastly different. As if he even needed to go over that thought in his mind yet another time.

"Perhaps you should get some more sleep," the girl suggested, evidently judging his lack of response to her words to be an indication of dropping energy levels; Reno couldn't help but feel a little irritated at his apparent weakness now, although he realised it couldn't be helped.

"Yeah, I think I will," he said quietly, watching as she nodded and took the tray with its empty bowl, plate and glass. He had to admit that the warm food had added to his slowly rising desire to sleep, and he knew full well that he needed more rest. If he was going to pull his usual action of a quick recovery from his injuries, he would require all the sleep he could get, and it was something of a matter of principle not to remain in the hospital for too long. A few days of solid rest and relaxation would help him enough to let him get out and about once more, although experience suggested that he would be somewhat below peak condition for a few weeks to come.

Not that it would matter, since it wasn't like he lead a particularly active lifestyle at home, and he certainly didn't intend to remain here any longer than he had to. As soon as he was permitted to leave the hospital, he'd be able to return to his own time, although there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind that was quietly pointing out that it wasn't as simple as that. It was the logical part of him that suggested time travel required more than simply arriving in a given location, and just because he'd reached Midgar didn't actually ensure his return to his own time.

But it was part of his mind he was doing his best to ignore, for now, if only because in the midst of various drugs from the doctors, he found his thoughts weren't exactly as clear as they should be. He could think about all these problems after some rest, he decided. For now, he was going to take advantage of the fact that he had people here, ready to wait on him hand and foot. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to benefit from such treatment, so Reno was going to make the most of it for as long as he was able to cope with prolonged inactivity; remaining cooped up in one small room had never been his idea of a good time, and he knew he'd probably become cramped and restless long before his injuries had properly healed.

* * *

Disclaimer - Once again, Reno's not mine, but pretty much everything else is. You know all this by now, right?

Author's Notes - Well, this chapter was a bit of a struggle to write, but here it is. A touch shorter than most, I think, but there we go. I didn't each achieve a whole lot, either, other than some scene setting for the society of Midgar, and such. If it counts for anything at all, I did have to start putting together a timeline to work out how the events of this story tie in with what we know from the game; it's a very scruffy timeline at the moment, though...

This chapter was beta'd by Phoenix, this time, for which I'm eternally grateful. 

Oyt, and how many reviews did I get for that last chapter? I'll have to do freaky weird flash-back thingies again, I think. *snickers evilly*

Tijuana Pirate: Glad you're liking the comparisons between the past and the future; I was wondering if I wasn't going a little overboard with them, considering they seem to be a fairly continual theme throughout. There's a point to them, but even so...

WrexSoul: Poking is, as always, fully welcome, although I have to admit I seem to have lost the ability to write chapters as quickly as I did originally. Poking helps though, it really does. I had most of this chapter written by last Sunday evening, but didn't have much chance to finish it til now.

Bob The Almighty: More chapters there will be, in plenty. Glad you're enjoying the story so far.

The Burning Misery: Not too sure on that, actually; I almost think if Reno'd had a better upbringing, he might be an entirely different person. Must put that onto my list of ideas to explore once I've finished writing this story.

Sqifer-fan: Romance is one thing you'll find very rarely in my stories, simply because a romance is something that takes a long time to develop, far more time than could be well portrayed in a story; at least, that's how I see it.

Aha! And it is the return of the long author's notes... Mwahahaha!

* * *


	15. Resolutions Of Mind

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen - Resolutions Of Mind**

* * *

It was, to say the least, something of a relief to leave the hospital. While still somewhat bruised and delicate to the touch, and more than a little sore in places, he was recovered enough to feel restless and bored while contained within a single building. He'd never been one to rest once his mind had decided he was well enough to be up and about; even if his body still felt the effects of his injuries, the moment he was no longer actually feeling sorry for himself he wanted to get moving.

Of course, this rarely seemed to coincide with the opinions of whatever doctors were responsible for his well-being, at least not at first. It took a very particular kind of behaviour in order to allow Reno to convince them otherwise, although he had to admit feeling a little... odd about practicing such an attitude here. The staff of this particular hospital had actually taken a genuine concern for him, rather than the pseudo interest resulting from the money paid to them by Shinra. Anyone could pretend to care about him when they were being paid enough, but as far as the Turk could tell, these people were paid virtually nothing. They did this mostly because they cared about people, and money was only a secondary concern.

So he'd felt perhaps a little guilt at being deliberately irritating so they'd release him sooner. That was a new sensation for him entirely, and it was one he wasn't too happy with. All the more reason to go home, really. Back to the future, where he didn't get tied down with the various emotional issues that went along with manipulating or upsetting those who were quite genuinely only wanting to help him.

It left him with the rather disquieting sensation that perhaps connecting a life support machine to the coffee maker hadn't actually been a very nice thing to do to these people. The widespread panic through the hospital when the device had reported its 'patient' to be deceased, despite the apparent presence of three fully functional hearts had been somewhat amusing, but the look on the pretty female nurse's face when what he'd done was discovered was nothing short of upsetting.

And that, more than anything, had very much disturbed the young red-head. He'd often been chastised for various pranks, often been severely yelled at and punished, and on occasions even slapped, in the case of releasing a bucket of frogs into Elena's apartment for a reason he could no longer remember. It had made sense at the time, and he'd taken the furious slap he'd received from the blonde Turk in good humour.

But no one had ever looked at him like he'd done something truly 'bad' on a very basic level. It wasn't hatred, or pity, or even contempt. The only thing that came even close to it was the look of disappointment on Tseng's face when Reno did something unusually stupid for a monumentally idiotic reason. He'd only seen that look once or twice before, but it was definitely similar to the expressions of the people here.

Similar, but not exactly. Later that day the doctor had told him he was well enough to leave, and he should do so as quickly as possible. He'd sounded almost angry, almost disappointed, and something else Reno was unable to define. It was like they'd wanted him to stay, simply because they were so naturally compassionate, and yet they considered him now as something mildly distasteful. Corrupted, or contaminated, perhaps.

And so it was a very unsettled Turk that had gathered his scant belongings, which had become liberally spread across the room he'd been staying in, and packed them once again into his stolen backpack. With that pack slung clumsily across his back, he'd left the hospital, the proverbial going forth and such. Oddly, he hadn't felt able to look back, either.

It was a fairly quiet day in Midgar, it seemed. There were few people wandering the streets, and even the factories seemed to be eerily silent. Occasionally there was the roar of a passing vehicle, or the wark of a chocobo, but otherwise all was fairly quiet. At a guess, Reno surmised it was a Sunday, and so unlike the world he knew, this one was taking its day of rest.

Again it showed how things had changed, as in his time Sundays were treated very much like any other day of the week, with all the shops open, and even the Shinra building a veritable hive of bustling activity. Time never stopped, so why should work? But here, whatever had happened to cause such an attitude hadn't yet taken place, and so the whole city, and likely the entire world, came more or less to a standstill one day in every seven.

This did make things a little difficult for him, however, since it seemed probable that the people he'd want to be speaking with about going home would also be taking a day off, and wouldn't be amenable to discussing such matters with him. This meant he was faced with at least a twenty four hour delay on his return to his own time, but then, he'd already been slowed down by a week.

It was beginning to occur to him now that perhaps getting home wasn't going to be as simple a matter as he'd first anticipated, and it was with more than a little irritation that he mentally admonished himself for nothing thinking it through properly to begin with. Of course simply reaching Midgar wouldn't be enough to take him home, and he'd been an idiot to think otherwise. This was a problem that was going to require some intelligence and planning.

So perhaps the delay was now an advantage, time for him to think things through and form some kind of strategy. Things he was perfectly capable of, but nevertheless often avoided. But, while improvisation had brought him this far, there was only so much it could do for him, and so for that reason it was time to consider things under a new light.

Reno began to walk, pacing calmly up the street with his gaze turned down towards the paved path before him. He didn't know the city well enough at all to truly think about where he was going, so he simply walked. His feet could make the immediate decisions of direction, while his mind took care of the much harder task of the problem of returning home, which seemed to loom ominously above his head, somewhat like the storm clouds in his dreams of the last week. Those dreams, by themselves, seemed to strip away his ability to think clearly, though. It was difficult to focus on going home when some part of his mind seemed to feel he was missing something important.

The trouble was, he couldn't understand it, not yet. He could only comprehend things when the evidence was visible to him, and it certainly seemed like he was supposed to be seeing something else. And while worrying about it wasn't getting him home, Reno couldn't simply forget it. Such dreams were always meant to mean something, and so understanding them would be a vital step. Perhaps that understanding would give him what he needed to return to his own time.

Maybe that was it? It was so simple he'd almost overlooked it, but perhaps the dreams were the product of his mind, or the butterflies, trying to show him how to get home. In which case, the pursuit of understanding was the real task that lay ahead of him. He had the answer, somewhere in his mind, it seemed; it was simply just a little out of reach, beyond the grasp of his mind.

That was indicative of the confidence Reno held in his own intelligence, the certainty that he could think his own way out of this problem, without having to look for help. Or then again, perhaps he was simply trying to convince himself he didn't require assistance to get home, an after effect of the events in the hospital. It wasn't that he felt guilty, because one such as him never did, but a general uneasiness was perhaps a more accurate description. The kind of sensation that nudged the darkest parts of his conscience, and pointed out that even if he didn't feel any remorse for his actions, there were some things that simply weren't right.

But, it always had been a Turk's prerogative to hold on to a small part of their morality; none of them would ever harm another loyal Turk, for they were almost family to each other. And never would they cause injury to their own family, or that of their colleagues. There were a few scruples that even a Turk was entitled to. Reno very much doubted that feeling uneasy about abusing the innocent was one of them.

He had, in the course of his career, killed many, many innocents. Almost too many to count, he reflected in a quiet, totally emotionless manner. He didn't care that he'd killed them, except perhaps in the very early days. He'd been younger then, and naive. Years of life in the Midgar Slums and then within the Turks had soon cured him of that particular problem, and he had, on occasions, been known to remark that no one in Midgar was truly innocent. Everyone was guilty of something.

Reno believed that too. It was why he'd not fully believed the almost child-like innocence of the Cetra girl; no one could realistically be that pure. It just didn't happen in Midgar. Therefore, if no one was innocent, then there could be no harming of those who'd done no wrong. It was these kinds of thoughts that had dominated his thoughts in the beginning, long before he'd become a Turk. There was no innocence, no purity, merely the struggle to survive and to rise above the rest.

Which brought him back to this particular situation. These people, while probably not pure or innocent, because people like that simply did not exist in Reno's mind, they weren't struggling to push themselves to the top of the proverbial pile. They weren't out entirely for their own gain, and it was this, he surmised, that made him uneasy about using and manipulating them.

He allowed a quiet, derisive snort, and kicked at a small stone that happened to present itself to his foot. He must be getting soft, that was the only explanation for all this. The last few months of working in the supermarket, apparently for the 'common good', whatever that was supposed to be, had taken his edge. That was something he'd have to see to when he got home. If he didn't do something about it, before he realised what was happening, he'd be hugging trees, drinking spring water, and teaching cute little kids how to knit.

Maybe, to celebrate going home, he'd do something really stupidly destructive. He'd plant a bomb in that accursed stack of canned beans. Assuming he still had a job, that was.

Now why the hell was he worrying about that? He really was going soft. It was disgusting, it truly was, and Reno decided that at some point in the near future, he'd have to get in touch with his inner Turk once more. No more settling down and trying to live the kind of life that would make people tolerate him; no more living like everyone else on the Planet, and trying to pretend that Shinra had never existed. This was who he was, and he was proud of that. All of it.

No regrets. Never any regrets. That had been the key to his life for such a long time, and he'd let that diminish somewhat, overwhelmed by the expectations of the society in which he'd been landed after the incident with Meteor.

Reno paused in his steps, thinking about this for a moment. It wasn't what the butterfly had intended for him to understand, but nevertheless, it seemed significant to him. He was going to do whatever he had to in order to get home, and if that meant stepping on people's toes, manipulating and abusing them, then so be it. No more uneasiness; that kind of thing was for the novice hero, not the experienced Turk. Morality, as always, was a matter of choice.

He lifted his head, tossing it in a confidant, arrogant manner, and letting the movement throw errant bangs of blood red hair out of his eyes. His uneasiness and sense of discomfort departed, passing away from him into the bright morning sunshine that beamed down at him.

So, he was going to go home. At the moment, he couldn't understand how to do it, although clearly the method was what his dreams were trying to tell him; that was the only explanation he could think of, after all. In order to figure out exactly what it was he was supposed to do, he needed to talk to someone who had at least a partial understanding of magic and time. They wouldn't need to know everything, simply enough for Reno to discuss it with them and bounce ideas around. It was very unlikely there was anyone in this world that could tell him what he needed to know, but they might be able to give him the place to start looking.

And since he wasn't being concerned about what these people would like for him to do, and wasn't worrying about being the generic 'nice guy', there was no reason why he couldn't start searching for this person now. After all, people here were so compassionate and helpful that they would help him regardless of his actions. They would assist him on a Sunday simply because that was the nice thing to do.

Besides, he would be helping them, too. He'd be giving them information as well, which would allow the science of Mako and the Lifestream to actually start developing here, and he still had the dragon egg to offer in payment. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved.

Reno cast his gaze about the deserted street, thinking carefully. If he was a budding Mako scientist, where would he hide? He'd have a little workshop in any alley somewhere, behind the shops, or perhaps between the much larger workshops in the industrial areas of the city.

From the thin trails of smoke in the air, he guessed that these areas of the city lay to the west, away from the peaceful suburb he seemed to have strayed into during his totally aimless walk. Starting to walk once again, he remained aware of where he was going now, heading in that direction, while taking note of the scenery around him. Even though he didn't intend to stay here long, it seemed only right that he learn his way around the city. He was a Turk, after all.

The layout was, as he soon discovered, nothing like the Midgar he'd known; this city hadn't the benefit of Reeve's design work, and so was a twisting, sprawling mass, rather than following the logical grid design Reno was used to. This was, he had to admit, more interesting, and he suspected that if he was ever chased through these streets, losing his pursuit would be easy enough, simply because of the numerous little alleys connecting the much larger roadways that twisted from one end of the city to the other. It was much smaller than the Midgar of his time, but infinitely more confusing; it just went to show how much of an effect some basic design work could have.

As he turned a corner, he froze in his steps, catching sight of a very familiar logo. It wasn't quite the same; less developed and much more simplistic in design. But there was no mistaking the red and white logo that identified the company that had once, or from this time's point of view, one day would rule the entire world. Shinra.

It wasn't Shinra Electric Company, though. This was before that had happened. This was Shinra Manufacturing. It seemed to be a small company, occupying one small yard on the outskirts of the industrial area of this Midgar. This world had little need for weapons, after all, beyond those used by the police forces, and for hunting purposes. But there was no mistaking that logo.

To Reno, it was almost rather unsettling to see it. It was the beginnings of the company that had once dominated his life in a manner very reminiscent of the way it had controlled the world. It was the pleasant feeling of familiarity, but also a hint of disgust and contempt. And every one of his trained instincts told him to go in there, report for duty like a good, well-behaved Turk. That in itself seemed to Reno so much like the action of a dog crawling back to its owner with its tail between its legs, after it had been out running rampant through the streets.

It wasn't too far from the truth, admittedly. He'd been trained to be loyal, and to be perfectly behaved; it was his own rebellion against that control that had lead him to not wear his uniform in the way expected of him, and to occasionally disappear for a few days on an enjoyable bar crawl. But despite the rebellion, he was still loyal, and it would take more than a few months working in a supermarket in Junon to change that. Old dogs didn't learn new tricks very easily.

And he had been running loose for a while, although admittedly that was because Shinra had been destroyed. Reno hadn't even considered the part of him that was loyal, though, simply because he'd known the company was gone. Seeing it here, albeit in a very infant form, left him feeling more than a little confused.

Between loyalty and independence, there was a moment or two of uncertainty, before he turned away from the manufacturing yard and the company that dominated it, continuing on his way. He had no place in this time, in this city, or as part of the Shinra of his time. His residual loyalty was nothing more than the tricks they'd trained into him, and the niggling nostalgia for times past that lurked in the back of his mind.

He was a Turk, yes, but he was no longer _their_ Turk.

* * *

Disclaimer - Reno, Midgar and Shinra do not belong to me; they are the possessions of Square Enix, although I'm sure many, many of us wish otherwise.

Author's Notes - Well, this was a chapter that was incredibly difficult to write, and was entirely introspective. You can, of course, read as much into the meanings of this chapter as you like; you know I'll never reveal anything about my intentions.

I've actually reached a difficult point in the story, as it happens. Between the arrival in Midgar and the next part of the story, I have a bit of a blank spot, and it's this through which I'm navigating now, heading towards the next section of the plot. There are a couple of such empty voids throughout the story, actually. This does mean that I can confirm that I know how I intend to end this story.

Tijuana Pirate: I originally intended to try to keep Reno's personality pretty stable throughout this whole story, but he seems to have his own thoughts on the matter, and so he's evolving and changing as time passes. So, it wasn't intentional, but even so... I'm glad you think it's working. And, for the romance thing, I guess I didn't quite explain properly. You see a lot of fics out there that leap straight into a romance with no basis behind it; for that reason, most romance stories would need to be long in order to make them realistic. But, with that said, one-shots are nice too. In those, it's not like you're portraying the entire romance, but a snippet of it. Part of the events that lead to it. I guess I just feel that many of the romance stories out there don't have a lot of thought behind them. But then, I'm so thorough I'd probably end up beating a romance to death...

WrexSoul: You know, all that poking is probably bad for me. You might actually hurt me one day... Eh, you know I love it really. Anyway, Reno's actions in the hospital in this chapter were entirely your fault. I didn't intend for that to happen, but you gave me the inspiration. So, basically, this whole chapter is your fault. Meaning that in a nice way, of course. No butterflies in this chapter, apart from a few references, but... I think I managed to keep with the ambiguousness. Perhaps.

The Burning Misery: There was a slight television-based inspiration for that last dream, but that's not how it relates to the storyline. It was really just something I had in my mind and it was exactly what I needed for that particular chapter. I will, of course, give absolutely no hints about my intentions for the future.

Now, I will, of course, attempt to get the next chapter done quickly, but you all know I'm as unpredictable as the butterflies themselves. So no promises.

* * *


	16. Lies Within Lies

**Ouroboros**  
**By Ktrenal**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen - Lies Within Lies Surrounded By Half-Truths**

* * *

Beginning now to understand the nature of the world in which he'd found himself, he wasn't particularly surprised by the appearance of the commercial and industrial region of Midgar; it only took a small amount of prediction to realise what he'd find. It would be small shops and workshops lining the streets, closed at the moment, although he could imagine their appearance when they were open. They would be cramped together, sharing the limited space in front of their premises in a friendly, amicable manner.

And strolling down a side alley, he peered into the windows of one of the back street workshops, catching the scent of stale smoke on the wooden frames holding the smudged glass in place. It was in these shadowed alleys that he expected to encounter apothecaries, and the lairs of alchemists. Somewhere, too, there would be someone experimenting with Mako; there just had to be.

Reno could recognise easily enough that everything here was closed, but all he needed to do was find the correct workshop, and from there locate the home address of its owner. This required a moment of thought as he considered his search options; a logical pattern would provide him with the information he needed sooner than random wandering. He soon settled in a simple motion, walking up one alley, and then down the adjacent one, tracking a zig-zag course through the commercial district.

As he pursued this goal, he let his mind wander once again, although this time following a specific train of thought. He'd realised that giving out information regarding the nature of Mako, and the Planet, would perhaps be changing the future, which would, without a doubt, be a very bad thing. But then, with that said, the realisation had also occurred that perhaps his presence here was something that was meant to happen, and so, therefore, was the sharing of the knowledge he carried.

This would mean that, if he were to avoid telling anyone of what he knew, he would be changing the future that way, instead. And he didn't even want to consider the possibility of a world in which Mako had never been utilised as a power source. Not that it would necessarily be a bad thing, but he was aiming to get back to the life that he knew. He didn't want to return home only to find that it was barely more advanced than this. The future was, broadly speaking, something like hell, but to Reno it was home.

Which left him no choice about his actions here; he'd have to share his knowledge, and hope that act did not unravel the universe or something similar. But, with that duly considered, he realised that if he made a mistake, and everything ceased to exist, then he wouldn't exist to know that he'd made the error. Or else he'd be floating in a void of nothingness, on his own for the rest of eternity, without even the butterflies to keep him company. Or, and this was the one that really confused him, if the universe unraveled, and he faded from existence, then he wouldn't have been able to cause the universal unraveling. And if he wasn't there, then it couldn't have happened. Which would result in him existing once more. But if he existed, then he'd destroy everything with his actions.

Even thinking about it gave him a few feelings of uncertainty, leading to the question, for a moment or two, of if he actually existed now. Considering he was able to ask that question, it probably meant that he did exist. Or he thought he existed, which was probably close enough. _I think, therefore I am_, Reno reflected, mulling the words over in his mind. _Or, I think I'm thinking, therefore I might just possibly be._

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his mind. The last thing he needed to be doing right now was questioning his existence. It reminded him of someone he'd been sent to kill a few years ago; after breaking into the man's house, he'd encountered the target standing in the middle of the kitchen. He'd said something along the lines of 'I don't exist, so you can't kill me!'. Reno had just laughed, and shot him through his apparently non-existent brain. Or not so apparently; anyone who thought such a ploy would work against a Turk obviously was lacking in cranial activity.

No, Reno himself was not that stupid. He'd received more than enough life experiences to confirm the fact that he did actually exist, and his own mind creating a paradox to add to his problems was not going to shake that firm belief. He existed, and the world would just have to deal with it.

It was just as he reached that particular decision that he paused in his steps, lifting his head a little to smell the familiar scent of Mako on the air. There was nothing else quite like it; the luminescent green lifeblood of the Planet smelled of nothing. It was the kind of nothingness that blocked out every other odour on the air, leaving a strange kind of void where his sense of smell had been a moment or two before.

From his previous experiences with Mako, Reno knew the source of it couldn't be too far away, and even then, it was probably only a small quantity; if he concentrated, he could still make out the smell of the city behind the stench of nothingness. Reno couldn't help but imagine what the response to the odour would be; the people of this time seemed to be so used to the heavy smells on the air that they ignored them, even when it sent the red-head almost gagging in disgust, save for his tight control over his physical reactions. To them, the smell, or more appropriately lack thereof, of Mako was probably something entirely strange and foreign to them.

But to one who'd grown up in Midgar, accustomed to the all-invasive scent of nothingness, it was a more than welcome assault to his olfactory senses. He took a deep breath, filling is lungs with the total absence of smell, before exhaling once again in a distinctly satisfied manner. It was a pleasant experience, in a way; just a little reminder of home, although that in itself, while increasing the urgency of finding a way to return to his own time, also served to increase those half buried feelings of home-sickness.

Since it seemed the most sensible way, Reno sniffed the air again, following his nose to the Mako, which he knew couldn't be far away. And soon enough, his sense of smell brought him to the front of a tiny little workshop, tucked away between two larger shops. It seemed almost hidden away, just a single small door, flanked by a tiny window that was so grimy that he couldn't see through the glass into the shop within.

But the door held the information he needed, a small plaque of tarnished bronze bore the name of the one who used this workshop, and was evidently the person he needed to see. At first, the name surprised him, but then he realised he should have predicted this all along. Who else would be working with Mako, after all? But clear as day, the plaque bore the name of Heinz Gast, Sr.

It gave him a time frame of when in history he had strayed to, as well. The Heinz Gast that had worked for Shinra on the Mako experiments had been Gast Jr., the son of this man, it seemed. So, with a few brief mental calculations, Reno guessed that placed him about fifty years before his time. It was further back than he had first thought, but it made sense, considering all that he had seen. Why else would the world he was now in be so different to the one he had known?

Not that he needed to worry too much about it now, of course. Beneath Gast's name, the title of 'Inventor and Explorer', and the address of the workshop itself was a line of tiny text giving the home address of the man. And that was all the information Reno needed. He committed the address to memory, although realised after a moment that he had no idea where 'Western View Street' actually was. In Midgar of his time, the streets were named primarily by an assigned number, and then by their Sector. There was none of this pretty name business.

Still, now that he had a name for the street, he could simply stop the next person he encountered wandering the streets and ask for directions. It wasn't something he was often inclined to do, since there was the entire pride issue involved with getting help of the navigational type, but Reno was also intelligent enough to realise that sometimes not being lost was more important than his ego. Besides, it wasn't like anyone he knew would have any idea he'd asked for directions. And the opinions of those he didn't know counted for virtually nothing.

Casting one more look at the workshop, and committing its location to memory, he turned away, following the course of the narrow alley to return to one of the larger streets. It was on these main thoroughfares that he would encounter someone to ask directions, after all, and it was easier to work out which way he needed to go on his own from the larger streets. Western View Street, if he guessed correctly, would be on the western side of the city, facing out into the countryside beyond the edges of town. Old names were easy enough to decipher when viewed with a little intelligence.

So he set off in that direction, moving casually through the streets. Later on, he realised, he would have to take a visit to the stables adjoining the hospital. Butterfly was probably wondering what had happened to him by now. And he would be needing her again, he guessed. When he'd come back in time, his actual location hadn't changed, and so when he went forward once more, the last place he wanted to end up in was Midgar of the future. He'd be stuck underneath a huge rock or something similar. It would be much better to return to his time in a place he knew would be safe. No where struck him as an obviously safe area at the moment, but perhaps later he would have a little inspiration.

First he had to actually know for certain that he could get home. He didn't even want to consider any other option. This world was all very well, but it wasn't a place that would ever make him happy. It was virtually impossible to teach an old dog new tricks, and there were times, faced with the impossibility of settling into life without Shinra to tell him what to do, that Reno felt like a very old dog. Independence was something that evidently required a certain strength of will. And if he struggled to adapt to a world that viewed him with the hatred he could easily return, how would he deal with remaining trapped in this place. This world that was just beginning its slow spiral into decay.

Possibly not existing at all would be a better option than this, Reno realised. He shook his head, bringing his attention back into focus. This kind of adventure was forcing him to go through a lot more introspection than he had done in a very long time. He'd learned to ignore thoughts like these, both as a Turk and as an attendant at the supermarket. The former because thinking too much got you killed, and the latter because it was hardly a rewarding enough experience to do much more than build his feelings of resentment. This adventure, though, was another matter; he realised that much at least. He was slowly realising things that should have occurred to him years before. Better late than never, perhaps.

His ability to change his mood from the negative to the mildly optimistic had always surprised those who knew him. It had ceased to shock Reno himself a very long time ago, however. It was just part of what made him so great, his ability to pull himself out of his own bad moods. A few moments of existential uncertainty, followed by a little melancholia, before coming back to the idea that he was benefiting from this little excursion, and despite the complaints in his mind, he really was having a strange kind of fun with all this.

And just to put the violently pink frosting on the enormous chocolate cake that was Reno's adventure, it seemed he'd found Western View Street, which would contain one Dr. Heinz Gast. With a grin of very distinct satisfaction at his own sense of navigation and direction, Reno strolled down the road, noting the rather classy houses. They weren't quite of the standard he'd seen on the Plates of Midgar in his time, but they radiated a certain aura of wealth despite their smaller size and less complex construction. Most of these houses had cars parked on the street outside, and each had immaculate gardens. It occurred to Reno that talented scientists, in these times, had been widely respected, a far cry from their status in the future.

Recalling the address he'd seen at Gast's workshop, Reno quickly located the house the man lived in. He stood outside for a moment or two, considering his words carefully. He knew he had to do this right to be able to get exactly what he needed from this scientist.

Once he was satisfied that he had prepared his mind as best as he could, Reno approached the door and knocked twice, before stepping back and waiting. He could hear sounds from within, so it was certain there was someone home, and if he guessed correctly, as long as he was polite they wouldn't mind helping him.

He didn't have to wait long before a dark haired woman came to the door and opened it. There was no caution in her movements, and no sign of a weapon either on her person or leaning against the wall inside the house within easy reach; once again Reno was reminded of how trusting these people were.

"Hello. I'm sorry to trouble you on a Sunday, but if possible I'd like to speak with Dr. Gast," Reno said, giving the woman his warmest smile. This was, he guessed, Gast Sr.'s wife; these people were not the type to employ servants or maids.

"Of course. Please come in," the woman told him, returning his smile and evidently assuming that if he'd come on a Sunday to speak to her husband, then the matter must be pretty important. She stepped aside to allow him to enter, and then closed the door behind him, before leading him into the surprisingly spacious living room. There was a small boy, perhaps six years old, playing with some toys on the floor there, but he stopped to look up at Reno.

"Hey kid. What you playing with there?" Reno asked, smiling at the child. It always made for a good impression if he made an effort to get on with the kid while his mother located her husband. She'd probably return with a warm drink of some description, and it would be a far more trustworthy mug of coffee than the one he'd been given in Junon. Unless, of course, Gast Sr. was into human experimentation, but that kind of thing wouldn't start happening for another twenty five years, if Reno's guess was correct.

"It's a car. Daddy made it for me," the boy told him, and his grin suggested that he thought a toy car hand-carved by his father was the best toy he could ever have. It was a nice thing to see, Reno realised, and it had to be a more wholesome childhood than the one common to kids of his time. Those on the Plates had simply played with consoles all day, and those in the Slums had considered a dead cat a pretty good toy. While it was soft, it was a good thing to cuddle, and it it became stiff and hard, it made an effective weapon. And decomposing flesh was perfect for throwing at other kids.

"That's a pretty good car," Reno commented. "And you've got a boat there too. Now all you need is an airplane, and you have a full set."

"What's a airplane?" the boy asked, gazing up at the Turk with large brown eyes.

"Oh..." Reno responded, realising that air transportation probably hadn't yet been invented. Well, he'd have to tell Gast Sr. the truth anyway, and likely as not the whole family would stay to listen. "Well, they haven't been invented yet, but what it is is a kind of car with wings on, so it can fly. They go really fast, so you can fly all over the world in just a few hours."

"A fellow scientist, I take it?" a male voice enquired from behind him, and Reno turned to see a tall, dark man who could only be Dr. Heinz Gast, Sr. The man was smiling, apparently quite happy to meet one that really understood how things worked; well thought of scientists in this time may have been, but that didn't make them common.

"Not really, no," Reno responded, shaking his head, wondering just how he was going to explain all this. They might well consider him crazy. "I'm sorry to be intruding on you on a Sunday, but... I have a problem, and I'm pretty sure you're the only one that can help me. And even then, I'm not completely sure you're going to believe me."

"Why don't you sit down?" Heinz suggested, gesturing to the nearby armchair, while himself taking a seat on the couch. "My wife is just preparing some coffee."

Giving a nod, the red-head moved to sit down, finding the armchair pleasantly comfortable despite its somewhat lumpy appearance and decorative floral design. "I'm not sure where to start," he said after a moment. In this particular situation, he decided that sounding somewhat uncertain and nervous was the best course of action; it would make Gast want to help him.

"How about the beginning, Mr.?" the scientist asked, politely requesting a name to match the face of his guest. Reno couldn't help but notice that the man was also taking surreptitious looks at his glowing Mako eyes; since coming to this world, he'd been getting used to those looks, but it was something else entirely to be getting them from someone who might actually understand the reason for the glow, once he'd been told the cause.

"My name's Turk," Reno responded, already knowing better than to give his real name. "The beginning... well, if I may be blunt... I'm from the future. About fifty years, as far as I can gather. And I really don't know how to get home."

"Time travel!" Gast exclaimed, his face breaking into an open smile. "But how?"

"I'm not really sure. I was hoping you might have some ideas," Reno replied, shaking his head in the manner that suggested he felt all was hopeless.

"Describe what happened to you, and maybe I can help," Heinz suggested after a moment, evidently moved by pity for his guest's plight. Exactly the effect Reno had been looking for.

Reno frowned, looking thoughtful for a few moments. Quite genuinely, he was trying to consider the best way of explaining the whole thing to the scientist in front of him. He was saved, at least for a brief period of time, by the arrival of Gast's wife with the coffee, which he accepted with a grateful smile and a nod of thanks.

"Okay... It was late in the evening, and there was a storm in the distance. It was one of those nights where you really don't want to be outside, if you know what I mean? I was at work--" he started, but was quickly cut off.

"Working at night?" Gast asked, apparently shocked by this.

"Yeah. The future's not a very nice place. It was the only job I could get," Reno responded, before realising something. "Perhaps I should start this story a little earlier. There's some other things you need to know. I remember Hojo always used to say that when you're analysing anything, you need all the information, and there's a lot of things that I take for granted that you won't know about yet..."

"Is it wise to tell me about them, then? You may be changing the future," Gast pointed out.

"I already thought of that. But most of the stuff I'm about to tell you is science that you started anyway. It's about Mako," Reno said. He was relaxing a little, finding that he'd already sparked the scientist's interest, and so simple plain honesty would serve him best now. He looked into his coffee for a moment, before taking a sip.

"So Mako does have special qualities?" Heinz asked, giving his red haired guest a very intense, attentive look.

"Yes, it does. When used in a reactor, it releases vast quantities of energy, far more than any of the combustible fuels you use here. The whole world is powered by the electricity produced from Mako. But it does other things. When you infuse Mako into living things, they become stronger, faster, smarter. Like me. You see my eyes? That's one of the side-effects. It's dangerous to infuse with just anyone, because Mako can poison you if you're exposed to too much. You've probably discovered yourself that you feel ill when you've been shut in a workshop with it all day," Reno explained, being careful to leave out details about the Lifestream and how Mako was the life force of the Planet; someone like Gast Sr. would never experiment with Mako if he thought it would harm the Planet.

"Yes, I had noticed that. So you say you've been infused with Mako? Incredible!" Heinz said, leaning forward to look more closely into Reno's eyes. "May I take some measurements of your capabilities later? This is fascinating!"

"Of course," the Turk responded, always happy to accept any opportunity to show off his Mako enhanced abilities. "Without the Mako in my system, I'd've never managed to get this far. You do have some very dangerous dragons here, far more so than the ones at home..."

"You fought a dragon? And you survived?" Gast was evidently easily excited when it came to things like this, Reno realised.

"Only just, but yes. It was this that actually saved my life, though," Reno said, pulling his Destruct materia from his pocket and handing it to the scientist. "This is materia, a super condensed form of Mako, and specifically, this one is Destruct. Materia lets you harness the powers in your own mind to perform magic, and the type of materia determines what kind of magic. Destruct lets me use three spells, either offensively or defensively. Two of them let me break magical barriers, and the third is a death spell. I was using it defensively while I was fighting the dragon, so the death spell protected me from the dragon's own magic."

"The dragon was doing magic. It had it's own materia, then?" Heinz asked. His wife and son were also listening to the conversation, and although they found it interesting, they also didn't really understand it.

"No. Everything with a mind on the Planet has the ability to use magic, and this comes naturally to animals and monsters. With humans, though, we mostly need materia, although there's also limit magic, which is the powers released when you're angry or afraid. I don't think that will start showing in humans for a long time, though. Not until Mako is more widely used. And a very few have their own magic they can use at will. Another result of Mako infusion, maybe. I'll show you mine later, if you want," the Turk offered, knowing that Pyramid and Neo-Turk Light very rarely failed to impress.

"Yes, I'd like that. So, how does all this tie in with your time traveling?" Gast Sr. asked, returning to the point at hand. Reno didn't doubt that he'd be asked for more information later on, once the scientist had the basic outline of everything in his mind.

"I was in a fight with a couple of guys with more advanced Mako infusion than me. My enhancements are primarily to keep me alive and give me an edge, but these men were part of the Soldier program. Very strong, and very fast. I was only winning because I've been trained to survive. But they started bringing materia into it. It looked like a combination of a Slow spell and Remove. Just where that particular one removes people to has always confused me. I'm guessing that back in time is better than the alternatives, though. Somewhere in the midst of that magic, I got hit on the head with a can of beans, and I woke up in the village of Junon."

"Well, that's quite a tale, young man," the scientist said, looking thoughtful, yet impressed. "I take it you're a military man, then?" he added with a hint of suspicion; it seemed that the people of this world did not trust those who fought for a living.

"Not at all. I'm a bodyguard, mostly, working for the leaders of Midgar. Or I was. We've had some very difficult times in the future. There were a lot of terrorists causing trouble, and many people have suffered because of it. They set off bombs in a couple of the Mako Reactors, and despite my best efforts to stop them, they managed to destroy an entire section of Midgar, killing over a million people..." Reno said, deliberately trailing off at this point.

He referred, of course, to Sector Seven, as told be Shinra to the world. Avalanche had attacked it, and had succeeded in destroying it despite the presence of Reno Fletcher of the Turks, who was unfortunately badly injured by the terrorists. He'd been called a hero amongst the Shinra employees and people of the Plates who knew no better. This lie, combined with the tone of voice that indicated his failure to protect Midgar was a very sore point for him would, he hoped, be enough to convince Gast that helping him was the thing to do.

"The government was decimated not long after, and a direct hit by a meteor from space has taken its toll. With the government gone, the world is in turmoil, and most people believe that the terrorists were right. Anyone who's been obviously infused with Mako is associated with the ones the terrorists were fighting against. Some, like the men I was fighting with before I came here, turned to crime to survive."

"It sounds terrible," Gast told him, sounding truly sympathetic. "And, I will help you return. If you get back to your time, then you will be able to fix things, won't you?"

Now there was an idea! One that Reno hadn't even thought of, too. But since it fitted in nicely with the lives, he nodded to the scientist. "Yes. That is what I was working on with my former colleagues. There's a good man that would help to rebuild things, and my former colleagues and I are going to help him." That part was, of course, a pure lie. But sometimes it was necessary to break away from the half-truths into complete fantasy, just to make sure things went as he planned.

"I have a few ideas, but I'll need your help with them. You may not be a scientist, but you do understand Mako far more than I do. The most obvious answer that comes to mind is using a Remove spell again, and perhaps the opposite of Slow, if that exists?" Heinz suggested.

"It does. The Haste spell. Unfortunately, Time and Exit are two materia that I don't own," Reno replied. That was, of course, why the idea had not occurred to him at any point during his adventure at all. He knew that without the correct materia, it was not possible. And it had been obvious from the start that materia did not exist in this time. But now he had a willing scientist to help him find a solution, and that was a step closer to home than he had been previously.

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Disclaimer - Final Fantasy VII, or concepts, characters and ideas thereof, do not belong to me. It's possible that Gast Sr. does, though, although I'm not completely sure. He is family of someone that doesn't belong to me. Complex, huh?

Author's Notes - Well, I know it's been a very long time since I wrote anything for this. And this was a truly odd chapter to write. It was incredibly difficult in places, but some parts, especially the later parts, were a lot of fun. But on the plus side, I'm fairly certain where the rest of this story is going now. Doesn't mean it's anywhere near being finished, mind.

And... you know, I've had so many reviews for the last chapter, I'm really not sure I should respond to them all here. Just call this a general thank you to everyone who reviewed; you make my day, when those little Review Alert emails arrive in my inbox. Keep 'em coming, yes yes?

Now on to chapter 17, which I shall try to get done quickly. How long has it been since the last chapter I put up?

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